Say It Like You Mean It
by Vampire-Athyna
Summary: I didn’t want to go, I didn’t want to look into that casket and see her lying there so peaceful and remember what she looked like when I first saw her. I didn’t want to look over at Dad and see him finally lose it, like had almost done the other night.
1. Brokenhearted

**Disclaimer** - I do not own 'Hey Arnold!', I swear! If I make up any characters, which I probably will those are the only ones I will own. I am sorry if you thought I was stealing your creations. I will return everyone safe and sound.  
  
**Disclaimer** - I don't own any band except for my own. I don't own any songs or titles or CD's by those of others bands. Please don't sue me.  
  
**Author's Note** - Okay, 1.) I am so sorry about the confusion, I did not know that chapter two was posted twice, I feel like an idiot, I am so sorry about that . . . not my being an idiot . . . the chapter confusion. 2.) I was rewriting this story, so whoever read the original would probably like this one better. 3.) This is not a tragedy, I don't think but I won't make it too depressing. To be honest I don't know what it is right now. And, bum ba du dum! 4.) Read and review, I hope you are not disappointed.

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**Chapter One: Brokenhearted**  
  
I slammed the door shut to Mrs. Hyerduhl's Volkswagen Jetta and waved as the car drove off, leaving me to stand in front of my house by myself. No big deal. I walked up the white washed stone steps and pushed the door open; luckily it was unlocked because I had forgotten my keys on my bed. I stood in the doorway and scanned the small entry; it looked like no one was home, no lights, no music, no television, complete silence. I dropped my bag on the floor, next to the door, out of everyone's way. Mustn't trip anyone when they come home.

I had spent the weekends and Phoebe's house and was ready to tell anyone who would listen about the amazing weekend I had. I slammed the door shut behind me and yelled, "Mir-" and I cut myself off, clenching my teeth. I was trying to be more respective toward my parents, trying to care for them, life was too short to hate everyone around me. "Mom!" I called. "I'm home!" I announced, there was no answer, proving that no one was home but I continued, even if I was talking to air, I had to brag; I had had the greatest weekend ever. "Oh, my goodness! It was _so_ cool." I pulled off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack that sat in the corner near the stairs. "Phoebe's mom took us roller-blading around town yesterday. She said that vehicles with engines were over rated and said that for one day we should get around on other wheels and pulled out three pairs on roller-blades. I got to keep the pair that she let me use." I walked into the living room and saw Mom lying on the couch. I wasn't sure if she was asleep or passed out but I continued anyway. "Then, this morning, completely contradicting her words she said yesterday, she took us go-carting and then took us to see a movie. Phoebe's mom is the _coolest_." I smiled then walked over to the couch, to look at her. Her color was a little off, ghostly, almost greyish, a trick of lighting, it couldn't have been anything too serious. I looked over at the coffee table and noticed all the liquor bottles. I sighed softly; at least she wasn't hiding her problem behind heavy cream, ice and fruit anymore.

Miriam was an alcoholic, I didn't understand that until I was in sixth grade when I took health and they taught us about alcoholism, they basically described my mother, it hurt so bad to think about it but I slowly adapted to it. But still . . . Sometimes . . . It still feels like someone has been taking a knife and slicing it through my heart.

I reached my hand over and moved her arm up just to see if she would wake up but her flesh was shockingly cold, like ice, stiff, hard to move. My blood gelled and breath caught in my throat as I realized the unimaginable. I moved my hand back lightning fast, like she had bitten me. Close enough. I stared at her in disbelief, it was a gimmick, a joke it had to be, she wasn't dead, she couldn't be. Bob had put her up to this, just a welcome home joke, right? I had to tell myself that, denial almost made things better but deep down you knew the truth, you knew lies weren't going to change the truth at all. I swallowed back the lump that formed in my throat as I stared at her, she didn't flinch, didn't breath, didn't move in any way at all. She was still. She was dead. She wasn't going to be here anymore, she wasn't going to be the slurred voice you heard when called and she answered, the mother who forgot to make your lunches or the mother who was too out of it to even remember to bring the groceries back from the store. Damn it! Damn _her_!

I examined her body with my eyes, she lay on her back, the arm I lifted was reaching out to where I was standing, her other arm was resting on her stomach, she was like a statue. From her waist down, she was covered with a knit blanket, her hair was down and a mess like she had been tossing and turning, tugging at the thin blonde locks, but it was probably from grabbing the bottles of liquor every few minutes. Her eyes, fortunately, were closed. Had they been open, I don't know what would have happened. On her chest lay a note, no, a letter. A two paged letter. The paper was blue and white clouded together, up the sides were butterflies, the letter was from Olga, no doubt about it. I had to know what it said. My slim hand reached over steadily, cautiously, and grabbed the letter from her lifeless body. I looked it over, the paper was torn at where she had held it, gripped it, the ink was smudged from her tears or maybe it was from the alcohol, and was crumpled like she was going to throw it away, then reopened it to reread what it held inside.

My eyes scanned the letter over and over, the written words didn't want to register, my brain didn't want to believe it. _I_ couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe what I was reading, my blood boiled with anger, hate, sorrow.  
  
_September 17_

_  
Dearest Mommy, Daddy, and Baby Sister,_

_  
I have so much to tell you and it will explain my absence and my lack of phone calls. In Alaska I met a man by the name of Stephen Erickson who is an Army Recruit, we fell madly in love right away to the point that we didn't ever want to be away from each other, but a year passed and he had to move again, this time to Hawaii. We couldn't leave each other, so he suggested that I move with him and I did, I felt so ashamed that I did that to my students and that I didn't tell you about it. When I wanted to call you he would pull me away and make up an excuse and drag me out and while he was working. He would have me work around the house, he gave me enough work that it took up my whole day and I would just forgot to call or write. He doesn't support me being with any other family but his own and it's painful but I cannot tell him that because I love him and I cannot bear to lose him. But at the same time I love you more and I cannot bear to lose you either but I don't know what to do. I will find a way to see you guys. Be it now or in ten years from now but I will figure out a way to see you guys._

_  
June 01_

_  
I would have sent this sooner but Stephen was getting suspicious, so I hid the letter. I found it last night. So, guess what? I am a wife and a soon-to-be-mother. In October of last year I got married to Stephen in England, he is a Catholic man, so he believes in a big family. I am seven and a half months pregnant with my first set of twins, a boy and a girl, Linda Amber and Josiah Lee (his choice). His family has been supportive of us, just like I know you guys would have been but he doesn't want you guys to know, he wants me to have nothing to do with you guys, I am sorry and he won't accept a divorce, it goes against his religion. I know I should have told you when it was all being done, I should have just picked up the phone and called you but he said that you guys didn't need to know about it, about us, and that you wouldn't have understood and he wouldn't listen to me when I told him that you guys support whatever I do, so I just gave in, gave up with trying to reason with him. I love you with all my heart and soul and I will never forget you guys and hopefully you will never forget me. I am sorry he is forbidding my seeing you, he says that it is pointless because we are always moving as it is but it's like he is afraid to be accepted by you guys, afraid to know you guys. I cannot leave a phone number or a return address, and I am sorry Mommy and Daddy. Baby Sister I hope you make better choices than I have, be careful on choosing the one you love, make sure he is the one, I love you all._

_  
Love Always,_

_  
Olga Pataki-Erickson  
_  
I read the letter over a few times more, letting her confession sink in. That was bull! She wouldn't let some guy push her around, she had a mind of her own, she thought for herself, she knew right from wrong and right was seeing her family on uncalled for notices. Wrong was getting married without letting any family know about it. She was leaving things out, she had to be, she didn't tell us something we probably needed to know. I fought the tears that tried to rise to my eyes, tears of distress and fury. I gnawed on my bottom lip then looked at my mother's stiff body and gritted my teeth together in anger. I leaned forward and lay the papers back where they were, careful not to touch the body again, I don't think I could take that. I sniffled as tears slid down my cheeks. Nope, hard-ass Helga G. Pataki couldn't hold the tears back. What was I going to do? Call the police? I couldn't. Call Dad, yeah, that was it. Call Dad.

I walked to the phone and dialed his work number by heart, it rang off the hook. Just as I thought no one would pick up, an impatient woman's voice spoke loudly over the receiver. "Yes, Big Bob's Beeper how may I help you?" Her words were loud and harsh, mean. Her voice was thick with a southern slur. I was speechless; her voice was almost over powering, intimidating. I felt the anger of years ago trying to seeping back to my veins.

I let out a breath, trying to disguise my voice as normal hoping that would be the way it sounded. "Yeah, let me talk to Big Bob." I ordered, it did sound normal. Good. Surely they should know who I was, they should recognize my voice, did they? Probably not, we'll see.

The lady let out an exasperated sigh; did I catch her on an off day? No, she was always like this. "Who is this, Big Bob is in the middle of a shoot right now." She informed harshly. I guess she didn't recognize me, well, crap. Tears were still in my eyes and my nose was a little stuffy but I doubt they would know I was almost going into a mental breakdown.

I was silent for a second, should I tell her it was an emergency? Should I tell her it was nothing and let him discover his dead wife on the couch when he got home from work and tell him I didn't notice the dead woman, I just thought she was sleeping? No, that was way to far-fetched. I had to tell him now in some way. I could hear the impatient smacking of her gum as she waited for me to answer, I could almost see it. I cleared my voice. "Uh, this is his daughter, Helga. It's an emergency that can't wait." I said. No explanation needed, no siree.

"Hold on, please." She said almost lazily. I heard a click then silence, she didn't hang up on me, I don't think. I waited for a few moments then heard loud background sound. "What is it, Helga?" A gruff voice snarled out over the phone. He always sounded that way when he talked to me, I was used to it.

I swallowed hard, I wasn't going to tell him over the phone, it would be like a joke, he had to see it for himself. "Dad, you need to come home, now." I said firmly, hoping he would give in on the first shot, but I knew there would be no such luck.

He was silent for second, laughing to himself. Ha! His daughter ordering him to come home. Big Bob doesn't take orders, Big Bob _gives_ orders. "Helga, I am in the middle of shoot right now, this can wait 'til I get home." He snapped out. He was on the verge of hanging up. He wasn't big on warnings, so things just happen before you know it.

"NO!" That on word was almost pleading, a cry for help. "No, it _can't _wait. I wouldn't call you at work if it weren't important. Dad, I am fourteen years old and I can take care of myself and to call you over an emergency must mean something. You need to come home, _now_!" I said quickly, hoping he had caught most of what I had said. Hopefully he would understand, he had to.

I heard him growl a curse then go silent as though he was contemplating what I had just told him. "Fine, this better be important, I am losing money here, girl." He hung up the phone. I was listening to empty air. I sniffled a sniffle that I held in since I got on the phone. I pursed my lips and began sob, hot tears running down my face. This couldn't be happening, not to me, not to my family. Why us? We may not have been the perfect family but he deserved better than this.

I couldn't be down here when Bob got home, I couldn't see his reaction. How was he going to react? What was he going to do? I didn't want to know.

I looked over to the couch and saw the off-colored lifeless arm and swallowed hard, my stomach turned. I was going to be sick.

I race up the carpeted stairs roughly, careful not to slip, down the hall and into the bathroom. I ran to the toilet and heaved the sour acid until my body felt somewhat better, until I felt weak. I pulled the handle down and closed the lid, resting my head on the lid. I stared into the dark bathroom and swallowed hard, the taste was still fresh in my mouth. Nope, that wasn't going to work. I forced myself up and walked drowsily to the sink and flickered on the lights. The lights seemed to be blinding, hurting. I turned on the cold water and took a handful to my mouth, swishing out the bitter taste. I spit into the sink then splashed my ghostly white skin with the cool water.

I looked into the mirror; I looked awful, good reason that I should. I reached over and grabbed a towel and dried off my face. I dropped the towel on the counter and looked out into the hallway. I couldn't go back down stairs, not until she was gone, I couldn't look at her, I couldn't know she was still here. I should have just stayed at Phoebe's like she had offered, just should have gone to school with her tomorrow, but no, I wanted to see my family. I felt the tears rise to my eyes again and let out a heavy breath.

I swallowed hard and jumped back a little as the door down stairs flew open.

Guess who was home?

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**Author's Note -** Sorry, sorry, and sorry again. I feel stupid still.

**Author's Note -** Bum, Bum, Bum!!! It's not going to be a tragedy, I promise, this is the only really horrible thing that will happen, maybe, I don't know yet. Anyhow, please review; even if you didn't like it, I just want some sort of feedback. Thanks!!!


	2. Everything Sucks

**Disclaimer** – I don't own 'Hey Arnold!'

**Disclaimer **– I don't own any of the song title, or CD's or bands.

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**Chapter Two: Everything Sucks**

I stood in the doorway, frozen. Just staring out into the empty hallway. I was too scared, too weak to really move. He was home now, everything was going to be different and not for the better. At that moment I wanted to fall to my knees and cry like a small, helpless child. The thoughts invaded my mind, working against me, trying to break me down into nothingness. Would it work? Not if I helped it, but I doubt I could help it. It hasn't even been a full hour yet and it feels like this had all happened days ago. Too much for time to consume, I guess. Or maybe it's just me.

I felt my breath leave me; it was thick and shaky as I listened to his thumping around the stairs or maybe that was my heart against my chest. He called my name. I didn't respond. I didn't know how to, my brain was completely shut down for the time being, words were beyond me right now. He repeated my name again then half of a question before stopping. He saw her, I didn't need to tell him what the emergency was, he knew. I tried to move and my legs cooperated. I walked to the head of the stairs and rested my head against the wall, listening to him. He was quiet; I didn't know he was capable of being quiet. Silence fell, I was listening to nothing. It was almost as if he didn't even come home, it was almost peaceful because if I wanted to, I could pretend that my mother wasn't dead on the couch, I could pretend that nothing had happened, I could pretend that all was okay. But that is called denial and right now, as bad as my life seems to be at the moment, I like living in reality.

Papers rustled, almost making me jump, it was like they were right next to me, crumpling in my ear but it was coming from down stairs, far away from me, in the living room. He was reading the letter, or maybe he was putting it back, it didn't really matter, all that mattered is that he was finding out all that happened, that this was going to be one of the worst days of his life, that he was going to be brought down into nothingness, brought down into a hole so deep that as much as he tried, he wouldn't be able to find his way out.

His footsteps were soft as he made his way to the phone and dialed a number. Calling emergency? No, he had to wait before anyone would pick up, he was calling somewhere else first, like it was more important.

Work before family. "Yeah, Erika." He started, his voice was raspy, tears thick in his throat, but he wasn't crying, not yet. "Uhm, I won't be in for the rest of the day." A pause, she was telling him something and he was listening, rational Bob. "I know—I know, Erika. It—It's a family emergency that I prefer not to talk about." His voice broke as he said the words. Wow, he—he had feelings. "Dammit, Erika, I will be in tomorrow afternoon, we can finish the shoot then. I just some time to think." No good-bye, he just hung up. Not even a full day to think about what was happening to his life.

He was amazing, he could front anything, act like nothing is wrong. I wanted to help him, just go down there and embrace him, to tell him that I will still be here, that I would try to do my best to be a good kid and help out around the house, do you think he would accept that? Nah, probably not. Olga was his favorite, I am just second best, not even that.

Bob picked up the phone again, the soft push of buttons then his voice, "I need an ambulance." He paused, listening. "My—My wife—" His voice broke once more and tears welled up in my eyes. He tried again after he cleared his voice, making it sound strong, more sure of itself. "M-my wife, she's dead." Quiet again, but what the person on the other side said must have been asinine, Bob raised his voice, "Well, let's see, she cold, stiff, and _not_ breathing, those seem like keys signs of being dead, Buddy!" Another pause, small, abrupt. He seemed to let out a breath of relief. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, like he was never angry in the first place, never even upset. They spoke for a few moments then he passed on our address then a few more words then the click of the receiver hanging up.

My face felt warm, hot. Over heated, feverish, it hurt, felt like my face was going to catch ablaze. My face scrunched up until it felt small, until it hurt worse than it already did. Tears flowed to my eyes in hot pools, burning my eyes. I took in a shuddering breath and turned swiftly, running to my room. I leapt onto my bed and buried my face into my pillow, muffling my painful sobs. The same thoughts echoed through my brain. Why me? Why my family? I knew we were going to fall apart, but why like this? No answers, the only thing I knew was that this was the way life was. Not fair in any kind of way.

I continued to cry, it seemed like I never would stop, every time I tried to stop another pessimistic though would come to mind and I would cry even harder. I cried until I felt ill all over again, until I fell asleep and that was peace for me.

- - -

I cracked open my eyes, it felt like opening a fresh wound, it hurt. My eyes were stiff from the crying and didn't help the pain any. My vision was blurry; everything was hard to focus on.

I rolled over onto my back and coughed, it was painful. I was so soar, just from crying, I don't think that is good thing. My throat felt like all the lining was scraped out, like if I coughed again, it would all be blood. I sat up on my bed, resting back on my arms, I still felt weak, sleeping in the middle of the day did that too me. I lifted my hand to my eyes and wiped them free of sleep and blink a few times before looking around. Everything was crystal clear, but it all seemed surreal, like if I touched anything, it wouldn't really be there.

The room was completely dark, almost pitch black except for the light of the sky spilling through the window onto the empty floor. I felt like I slept for days, just hours though. I glanced over at my clock radio, half past nine. Six and a half hours of sleep, pretty good. But it made everything that happened seem like a bad dream, like it had never happened, but I knew the truth, I couldn't sit and lie to myself.

I stared down into my legs, thinking and sighed heavily. I leaned over and switched on my lamp. The light was bright, blinding, making my eyes force shut to block it out. I rubbed my eyes and turned my head away and opened my eyes cautiously, slowly. My eyes narrowed a little, still sensitive, but I would live.

I continued to sit in thought. Should I go downstairs, see if Bob was still here, to see how he was handling all this? Yes. But the real question was: did I want to? No, but I needed to. That was that, my mind was made up. Then why wasn't I moving and why was I still contemplating it all? Because I was too confused for my own good. I slid out of bed and staggered to the open door. The hallway seemed to be long a tunnel, like it would take forever to get to the end.

I was walking slowly, taking my time, no need to rush, no need at all. I got to the top of the stairs and looked down. I was so high up. Note to self: No more sleeping in the middle of the day. I walk down the stairs, griping the railing, balancing myself. I walked a little faster and realized that that seemed to be the best. I walked into the living and looked around, couch first. The knit blanket lay there unattended, no body to cover, she was gone and that hurt worse than before. I swallowed hard and flinched, it still hurt. I was staring at the couch for too long, images dancing in my head, images of her, flashbacks. I sighed and forced my eyes away from the couch the big man sitting quietly in the chair next to the couch. He was staring off into space, deep in thought.

I watched him and didn't know what to say, my eyes were just staring hard into his. "I saw her, Helga." His voice broke the silence; it was so quiet and soft that it broke my heart in two. I think this was first time he had gotten my name right, but I don't think it was possible for him right now to even mix my name up with Olga.

I looked down then back up, almost confused, "What?" I understood him, but I didn't understand what he meant.

He glanced up at me, his grey eyes not as intense as usual. "I saw her, girl, lying there this morning. I—I thought she was just resting, she looked _so_ peaceful that I couldn't bother her, I just wanted her to have that small moment of peace." His voice began to crack, tears glistening in eyes. Oh, God . . . he was blaming himself. _No! _No, it wasn't his fault. Why couldn't I tell him that? Because it wouldn't mean anything, he wouldn't buy it. Once stubborn, always stubborn. But I could always try.

I walked over to his chair and knelt beside him, resting my chin on the arm, my blue eyes looking up at him. Silence, thick and heavy. Awkward. Then, "I saw her, too, Dad." I said, looking away as he stared down at me. "B—but I lifted her arm as a joke to see if she would wake up, but she didn't. I _touched _her dead body; if I weren't so well set then I would be mentally and emotionally traumatized right now." I let out a small laugh, it was bitted and quiet. "I came home without any warning to her death; I didn't know what to do, so I called you. I had to let you know, but I was not brave enough to tell you what you were going to walk in to, but at least you had a warning. I guess this speech is just a round about way of wondering: How am I taking this better than you? Of wondering: Why are you blaming yourself? You know it's not your fault." I looked back up at him, my face free of emotion.

Bob's face was still blank, but he understood, it was in his eyes. He nodded, it was faint but still there. "Thank you, Helga." His voice was dry, husky. Bob blink and stared down at the ground. "Hey, why don't you go get some rest, you have school tomorrow." I started at his words. Did he really just say that to me?

Taking in a deep breath, I sat up straight on my knees, looking up at him. "I am not going to school tomorrow." I shook my head in protest, tears in my eyes, why was I crying again? "I don't understand you, Dad." The words squeaked from my mouth, shrill. "You—you come home, don't freak out, you sit here and act like nothing is wrong! For God's sake just realize that nothing will be all right! Admit it! Because the more you lie to yourself the worse it's going to be!" Tears slid down my face like small rivers, telling him that made me feel a little better, but I don't think he understood me at all.

He looked down at the ground in front of him, "But it _will_ be all right, kid." His hand ruffled through my blonde hair. I wanted to spit in his face. Maybe that would knock him out of his trance. I ducked out of his touch and stood up, looking at him for a second, shaking my head, tears still rolling down my cheeks. I turned around in disgust and walked up the stairs. Angrily I stalked to my room to my room, slamming my door behind me. So, it was childish, I am a child. I walked to my nightstand and flung open the drawer, almost knocking everything off and pulled out my long neglected tiny pink journal. A pen rested inside, I made a promise to myself that I would only write in this when I was upset or really happy. It's been so long.

Roughly, I flipped to an empty page, almost tearing everyone I turned. I haven't been this mad in so long, it was foreign. I put my pen to the paper and began to write all that happened, as much as it hurt.

_Sunday, June 09_

_Olga finally wrote us after avoiding us after a few years. She's married to Military Man "Stephen Erickson", he tells her what to do, because she cannot make her own decisions, because she the freakin' smartest person I know other than Phoebe. Note: If you haven't done this yet, emphasize my sarcasm. She married Stephen last October, good for her . . . only wish I meant it. Mr. Erickson got her pregnant with twin. _Twins!!! _How the hell is she pregnant with twins? It must come from his side of the family. From all that she told us, which wasn't that much, her husband seems like he is a royal jack-ass. He tells her what she can do, and who she can see, and probably what to wear and how to act. Man, she sure knows how to pick 'em, just like the last guy she was engaged to. This guy won't let her see us because he thinks we won't be supportive, we won't accept him. How would he know? He won't even give us a chance. But, you know, it really wouldn't matter because they are always moving, but wait . . . He has enough time to supported by his family, to see his family, he has major issues and needs help. I, personally, think he abuses Olga, he sounds like he would, or maybe he's worse than that, I don't know, but I am finding myself really caring for her. I don't want to her hurt, but what can I do? Good ol' Catholic man my ass, he is a horrible person. Well, Mom read the letter Olga sent us and drank herself to death, literally. My mother killed herself because she lost her little girl, and that is why Stephen is a horrible person. I found her on the couch after staying the weekend a Phoebe's, wonderful welcoming, nothing can beat coming home to a dead parent, especially after you touch them. Yes, I touch my mother's dead body, the feel will always be with me, it was like nothing I had ever experienced. I had to call Dad and tell him about Mom, but I couldn't because I am a chicken shit, I didn't have the guts, so I just gave him a warning, I didn't go down stairs to tell him when he came home either, I let him find her on his own, he is now in the beginning stages of denial. He told me, when I was freaking out on him, that everything will be all right. Yeah, like he really believed that. And _I_ feel like I will go insane if I keep all this inside, but who am I going to tell? Nothing like this ever happens in Hillwood. Arnold is the only person who anything like this happen to him, but that was when he was young, he is well adjusted. Man, I wish I could just tell somebody, but . . . no one would understand. Ending note: Everything Sucks, Life Sucks._

_The pain is forever killing,_

_Forever chilling,_

_Forever hurting and tearing._

_My life is a pit of nothingness_

_My heart is a slit of emptiness._

_Everything old is disappearing and rearranging,_

_Everything is going the wrong way and sinking._

_I am dying deep inside,_

_I don't know what to do, so I just hide._

_Don't care to find my way out,_

_Have nothing to really care about._

_All is gone and won't return,_

_I feel I still have so much to learn._

_No one left to care about, _

_So I just walk around, whine and shout._

_Hating my life, _

_Hating everything around me,_

_Hating people,_

_Hating me.___

_Life goes on, for better or for worse,_

_So I guess I will have to learn to deal with it,_

_Guess I will find out how everything works._

The paper was damp with my tears, ink smudged slightly. I reread what I wrote and settled my journal back in its home. I leaned over and turned on my radio, the hardcore music flowed out and surrounded me, calming me a bit. I turned off the lamp and lay down, staring up at my ceiling, just taking in the only sound in my room, my music. I was too afraid to fall asleep, too afraid to dream of her. Earlier was lucky but now, I don't know, I just had to keep awake.

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**Authors Note –** Yeah, this chapter was kinda boring, sorry. But review please, I would some feedback. Much Thanks!!!

**Authors Note -** Sorry about the formatting, I don't know how to change it.


	3. Sorry Sorry

**Disclaimer –** I do not own 'Hey Arnold!'

**Disclaimer – **I do not own any of the bands, CD's, or songs created by others.

**Author's Note - **Yes, the title is from The Starting Line. I am a big Starting Line fan. And the titles of the chapters are from other bands, but that's just 'cause I am a rip off. Haha. O.o;;;

**Author's Note –** This chapter is a bit long, prepare yourselves, but I really hope you enjoy it. Please read and review, much thanks!!!

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****

**Chapter One: Sorry Sorry**

_I was standing a room, my living room, but it was different. It wasn't the same room as it was before. I looked around; it was cold, colorless, grey. It was just a replica, an abstract replica. I stood in the middle; the room was naked of anything, completely empty. "Helga . . ." My name was dragged out in a quiet whisper by a voice I knew too well, but who did it belong to? I looked around; no one was to be seen. The wind, it was calling my name, wasn't it? "Helga!" The voice spit my name out like it was acid upon its tongue. I flinched and spun around in a quick circle, looking for the voice that was calling my name. I was still the only body in the room. The voice with lilt with anger, mad at me. What had I done? Was I bad in any sort of way? I couldn't have been. I didn't even understand what was going on._

_My eyes bounced off the walls, scanning every inch of the room, but still empty, frightening. Where was I? Was this the hell I was condemned to be in, an illusion of how I saw my life? My heart sunk to last thought. How _did_ I see my life, was this it? I didn't want it to be. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I tried again. No sound. My voice was broken, it didn't work. As much as I tried, I could not speak. It was like someone had flipped a switch, killing my voice. Hysterical laughter filled the air, wrapping around me in a tight blanket, sending chills up and down my spine. My bottom lip quivered as if I was going to start to cry again as I mouthed words, "What do you want?" Tears glistened in my eyes, and laughter never seemed to subside, it just rose, taunting my efforts to make peace with it._

_The laughter finally died down to deep chuckles, echoing through the air, louder than the laughter could have. I swallowed hard as the scenery around me began to flash bright, vibrant shades, almost tie-dye. It looked like a hippie's world. My breath came in short, shallow breaths; I felt as if I was suffocating, I couldn't breathe. The voice came into the multi-color room, "This is your fault, Helga . . ." It was already accusing me of something. What was it? What did I do? I couldn—no, I didn't do anything wrong. No, no, no, no. NO!_

_My head snapped up, tears still in my eyes. Even with my voice gone, I still tried to make an effort to shout, to scream at the voice, to make it hear me. I opened my mouth in hope that switch would flip on and tried to scream out the words, "Who are you? What do you want with me?" My voice never came. This was my punishment, not being able to speak, not being able to defend myself. The person who was doing this to me knew it all too well. Tears trailed down my face, burning my cheeks, but I didn't wipe them away, they didn't matter, they were nothing but tears of anger, nothing I hadn't experience before._

_The room went grey again, still. I was holding my breath without even knowing it, until I let it out. The voice came out as soft as feather, it wasn't at all becoming. "Oh, but, Helga, It's mother. Couldn't you tell?" She cackled in amusement. I glanced up but the room was still filled with only me. My sobs stopped in the back of my throat. Mother, Miriam. She was doing this to me? Bu—but why? I took in a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth. "I want to make you suffer for what you did to me." Her voice was threatening. What? My eyes were pointed to the ground, her words banging against my brain, repeating themselves over and over again, like a broken record. I squeezed my eyes shut; trying to kill the words then opened them abruptly. The walls were bright crimson red around a lifeless, pale body that stood inches before me. She was grey-blue, a hideous color but I couldn't break my gaze from her, my eyes were glued to her like a magnet. Her blue eyes burned into me like I would catch on fire or maybe even do a trick. Neither happened. I found myself able to think clearly again. I opened my mouth to scream in fear as I just stared at her, she wasn't Mom, she was something else, something different, something I couldn't take my eyes off of, something that shouldn't be, but I still couldn't drag my gaze from her. As I stared into her blue eyes, something in my gut burned, felt like it was going to melt. She was trying to catch me on fire._

A shrill scream of bloody murder escaped my throat, high and echoing, as I sat up straight in a cold sweat, my hair glued to face, chest and arms. My breath was coming in shallow, quick breaths, it was like someone had held my head under water and wouldn't let me up to breath. My room was bright from the light of the sun coming in from the bare window, making me squint. I looked over at the clock radio; it was 9:45A.M. My breath had slowed to a deep, even breaths, but I couldn't get the images out of my mind. They were faint, almost invisible, and yet they were so bright, like they were right in front of my face. I didn't want to ever close my eyes again; I was too afraid, too afraid to see her the way she was in my dream. Not herself. She was something that far from the way she was, she was . . . evil. So evil she almost scared the life out of me. I clenched my teeth together so tight that my jaw hurt and shook my head violently trying to rid my memory of her. It did not work.

I rubbed my eyes, they were still moist and stiff from the tears I had shed in my sleep. Her face, the same evil face I saw in my dreams, flashed into my mind, making my heart stop in my throat. I opened my eyes and frowned hard at that clock. How could I have let myself fall asleep? How could I have let myself dream the dream I didn't want to dream? I thought I had more control of that, of myself, my mind. Dammit, dammit. _Damn it!_ Why do things have to be this way? Why do people have to be tested? Good people at that? Why? I don't think I will ever get an answer to that.

I shook my head in a bitter movement and fell back onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, my hands balled into tight fists, nails digging into the sensitive flesh of my palms. I thought about the dream, maybe my dream was a sign. Maybe that was what I thought of my life. Maybe that's what I thought of her death, as my fault. Subconscious messages never made any sense. But if I did see it as my fault, why? Why was I blaming myself? Maybe it was because I never really treated Mom with the respect she needed, maybe it was because I wasn't trying hard enough at everything, not trying hard enough to get close to her. I let out a deep sigh and relaxed into the soft sheets beneath me. Yeah, that was it. I never tried with her.

With a strangely odd force my eyes drifted over to the phone just before it rang. My eyes widened and I just sat there, staring it. It rang again, making me jump. It's just a phone, Helga. I reached over and picked up the receiver, placing to my ear. "Hello?" My shaky voice came out quiet and nervous.

There was short pause, like the person was trying to figure out what to say. "Helga?" A deep voice asked. I relaxed my shoulders and smiled faintly into the phone. The voice belonged to Mr. Hanks, the new vice principal at P.S 118. I was his T.A. in the mornings, I helped him file papers and if I was well behaved I even got to work at the desk. Whoo-hoo. Hey, it's helping me graduate.

I nodded into the phone, but stopped, realizing he couldn't see it. "Yeah, Mr. Hanks. What's up?" The question was dull of any emotion whatsoever. It was frightening, even to me. I sat up in my bed and played with the phone cord, twirling it around my finger in thought.

There was that pause again. A pause of caution, of thought. Should he ask what's wrong, or maybe tell me I am late for school. I hated those kinds of pauses. "Are you alright?" His voice came out thick with worry. I didn't need anyone to worry about me.

"Uh . . ." I stammered, trying to think of a good answer. Should I tell him the truth? Or maybe I should just lie and tell him that I am sick. "Yeah, no. I am not going to be at school today, or—or for the rest of the week." This was the last week of school, and probably the most important and I knew I needed to help him, but that was just tough luck. You don't always get what you want, I learned that from experience.

I heard him sputter over the phone in disbelief. "Wha—_why_? You have to be. Helga, you only have to show up a full day tomorrow and then half a day on Wednesday. Then Friday, you just have to go to graduation. You have a speech and everything, Helga. You just _have_ to show up. Besides we really need you in the office." He was rambling, thinking of ways to make me want to show up. Guess what? It still didn't change my mind.

I sighed, a little bit in shame, a lot in frustration. "Look, Mr. Hanks, it's a family emergency. I am not showing up this week, I am sorry. Something happened over the weekend and I don't think I can bear being around people right now, even if it is _technically_ for two and a half days. As for my graduation, find someone else to give the speech because I am not going to that either a—and you can just mail me my diploma. I know it has been done before. And the office will be fine without me, if you accept the one name I give you." I paused as if building up the anticipation. "Phoebe Hyerduhl." I wouldn't have been too enthused either with way I said that; it had _no_ emotion at all. I was just unemotional.

I could have sworn he growled to himself. "Is it really that bad of an emergency?" He asked roughly, not really caring about my offering Phoebe Hyerduhl to be his back up assistant. My bottom lip began to quiver as he asked the question. He was being a rather insensitive jerk.

I stared at the floor as tears seeped from my eyes. "Yes." My voice came out unusually high. Okay, so now I was crying while I was talking to my vice principal, how weak was that? I sniffled and squeezed my eyes shut, all was black, no images. Good. Tears ran down my cheeks like lava, it hurt horribly for some reason, like salt on an open wound.

Mr. Hanks hesitated on the other side, stammering a little. Trying to find a good choice of words? Yeah, probably. "Uh...what happened?" He asked softly. He must have known he hit a weak spot because his voice changed; it was more rational, nicer. "Do you _want_ to talk about it?"

I shook my head into the receiver, talking small breaths, trying to sound like I had stopped crying. It didn't work. "No." My voice came out high again, damn it. I took in a deep breath, swallowing hard. "No, I really don't." It sounded a little stronger, but was shaky around the edges.

He was quiet, as though he was reflecting, or thinking how to say the _right_ thing. Finally he spoke, if he hadn't in the next five seconds I would have hung up on him. "Well, I will tell your teachers you won't be in this week. I am sorry about the sudden emergency and I hope everything works out. Helga, you are my favorite student, you know how to make someone feel welcomed in a strange place, and I am going to miss you so much. It's a shame that you won't be at the graduation, but you have reason and I respect that. When things get better, come by and tell me how things are working out for you." I heard a small smile in his voice, his words were so honest and sincere that it made me start crying even harder, no one cares that much about me, no one ever has and it's so heart wrenching to think about, to hear. Man, I hate being a girl sometimes.

I took slow, long breaths, trying to calm myself a little. I nodded into the phone, "I promise, Mr. Hanks." I didn't like to make promises I wasn't sure I was going to keep, it meant you were unreliable, and I was sure I was pretty reliable, but I might have just contradicted myself. I let out a shaky breath, "I think I am going to go, I'm not feeling so well right now." In all honesty I wasn't feeling that great, I felt ill all over again.

"Okay, Helga, I hope to you see you soon. My condolences on your emergency. Good-bye." _Emergency_ that was what he kept calling it; what else would he call it? Death, accident? No, I didn't tell him what happened. What was I expecting? I don't know, maybe a part of me wanted to tell someone what happened. I can't even be around my own father without feeling like I was going to go insane. The days will probably get worse, and everything will soon remind me of her until I let it all out to someone, or until I really do go insane, which ever comes first.

I looked at the ground, "Good-bye." I hung up without another word and fell backward onto my bed, legs hanging off the edge. I just stared up into the ceiling, a ceiling covered in fake plastic stars that glow in the dark. All I wanted to know was . . . How? How do I make everything better? How do I save my father from whatever denial he is sinking into? How do I save myself from being depressed? I have no answer; this is just how things are. Crappy.

I sat back and leaned over to the nightstand, the pink notebook didn't seem to be neglected anymore, I had all these thoughts that I needed to get out of me. I grabbed the book from the drawer and opened it to the next blank page, black ink pen poised and ready to write what I wanted to write.

_June 10_

_It is ten in the morning, and I don't know how it got here so fast. I don't remember falling asleep. All I remember is that I couldn't fall asleep and then I wake up from having a dream about my mother. I just want to forget it, forget all of it; I want denial, the kind of denial that becomes real, the kind that can't hurt you, because you will begin to believe it yourself. It sucks to be well adjusted sometimes._

_I wish I could think of things to do to make me feel better, it's a lot more than just doing something, it more like feeling something. I wish I could just make a list and that would make all better, but I am not stupid, I know better. My little pink book was for my deep, sweetest thoughts, my poems, and now it just seems to be for depressing, lonely thoughts. Sadness. Damn._

_I wish I could take it all back,_

_Wish I could forget about it,_

_I wish I could have what I lack._

_My loves,_

_My friends,_

_My thoughts,_

_My losses,_

_Everything that seems to be gone._

_I wish everything was different,_

_Wish my father didn't feel the way he does,_

_I wish my heart didn't have this painful dent._

_I wish this could be sent to the ones I miss,_

_The ones I love,_

_The ones I know,_

_The ones who are gone._

_I wish that you could return,_

_Wish that I knew how to make you,_

_I wish this pain didn't burn._

_Well, wishes don't really come true,_

_They're for daydreamers,_

_And kids,_

_Stories,_

_And movies,_

_Television,_

_And music._

_But still,_

_I wish . . ._

I looked over my poem, it wasn't the best but hell, it was better than the ones I wrote about Arnold when I was younger, but yet, I still couldn't bear to throw those ones out. Emotional attachment? Possibly. I slapped the book shut and set atop the night stand and lay back on my bed, staring into the fake star filled ceiling once more. I just have to bear with it. People die everyday. Yeah, that's it. Others seem to deal with it well, except for the ones who break down and jump on the coffins at the funerals, or those who kill themselves, or attempt to, or those who go mute, or those . . . Okay, so maybe they don't handle it so well. Oh, how life bit the big, fat one. I sighed and sat up slowly, huffing out a breath of air. I have never felt this empty before, not with anyone, not even when my grandparents died. But this was my mother, and it wasn't of natural causes, she did it because of _Stephen Erickson_, son of a bitch. If I were vengeful, he would have to watch his back.

I slid off the bed lazily and staggered to the door. My legs felt weak, but just a little, I was able to balance myself without have to grab hold of anything. I opened the door and jumped slightly, my eyes felt like they were bugging out, like I had choked on something. My father stood there like a drugged up giant, his face was lazy, dropping with exhaust, like he hadn't slept in days. His face was fuzzy with stubble, heavy bags dropped down under his eyes. He looked horrible. "What are you doing, Dad?" I yelled at him in surprised. "Were you just standing there _trying_ to scare the hell out of me?" I asked. This had nothing to do with being a bitch again, I don't like being surprised or scared, that was why I didn't like horror movies.

Bob stared down at him, eyes warning, but face empty. "Watch your mouth, girl." His voice matched his face, empty of anything, dull. "I was just about to see if you were awake, if you were going to go to school." He sounded like he was serious. I just stared at him; he had never done this to me. He didn't care if I got an education, did he? Was I just his replacement? Someone he _had_ to care about? Or did he really care? He was gawking at me awkwardly, as if lost of any conversation, as if this was all just a mix up and he felt stupid. Wouldn't be surprised, actually. "Uh, are you going to school?" He stared past me, eyeing my room, a look passed his grey eyes, I think it was suspicion.

I craned my head to look at the clock, but it was out of view, but I had a general idea of the time. "I am two hours late and I told you last night that I am not going." I paused and stared into his tired grey eyes, "I am not going for the rest of the week, I already told the school, they understand." I didn't like having to explain myself to people, but how else would they know, read my mind? If it were only that easy.

A small frown crossed his face, I think it was disappointment. Shocker. "Well, aren't you graduating some time soon?" He asked as he rubbed the back of his neck, almost like a small massage. I felt my eyes widen in surprise. He actually remembered? This was absolutely unbelievable! I nodded slowly, staring at him. He never remembered anything, never paid any attention to me, how in God's name did he remember this? I felt like I was going to have a heart attack, or maybe I was just happy that he was acting like he really cared.

He looked to the ground then back up, "Um, yeah, when is that?" He asked, he sounded a little embarrassed, but no big deal, I could let it go.

I smiled politely but it was empty, just a dolls smile. "Well, Wednesday is my last academic day and Friday is graduation, but, like I said, I am not going. Being around too many people may make me lose it; it's been known to happen when something tragic goes down." It was the thing that came out of his mouth that really bothered me, that really irritated me.

His dull eyes widened, coming to life with surprise. "Oh, I thought it was going to be next year or something, what grade are ya in, Kiddo? Sixth, seventh grade?" I felt my empty smile wear down to a frown, my eyes burning into him.

Bob studied my face, looking as if he didn't know what he said wrong. "What?" He asked. Wow, he didn't care, he was just a lucky guess, maybe that is why I was always so angry at him, because he didn't care, or maybe it was because he didn't act like a father to me.

I clenched my jaw then loosened it, looking down into the ground. "Dad, I am in _eighth_ grade, on my way into high school in three months." I loved my father to death, but it was all about him, his work . . . Olga. Not that I am complaining or anything. He just doesn't pay attention, ever, not to me. I feel I have to treat him like a child sometimes. I looked back up, narrowing my eyes at him and shaking my head, but I just should have known that he wouldn't remember.

Bob's face fell in shame, good, he should feel bad. "Oh, uh, well, I really think you should go this week." He offered. Just because the small change in his voice made him sound sincere didn't mean I was going to forgive him for not acting like a father to me. "It would just be a shame if you failed because you missed the last couple of days."

I smiled and it was bitter, "Funny, isn't it, Dad?" I said. "I am not failing anything; I am passing every class I am taking. They can't fail me because I am out for a family emergency. Grief leave they call it. So, Father, why don't you pack up your little guilt trip and move on, because I am not buying." The words left suddenly, leaving a small pain in my gut. I know it wasn't harsh, I know that I can be a lot worse, but talking to him like that in the state he is in made me feel a little bad. Just a little.

He looked at the ground then back up, he looked hurt. Hurt because I didn't take his guilt trip, or hurt because he can't even get respect from his own family? Maybe when the timing is better I will ask. Bob opened his mouth to say something, but closed his it and stared at me. All that stood around us was silence. A silence that would drive me to my insanity. I couldn't take that uncomfortable dead silence, the kind of silence that you get when something bad happens, the silence that filled the house all day yesterday. That silence. I looked back at my clock, then realized for the first time this morning that the radio was off, had I turned it off? And come to think of it I was also covered in a blanket, I didn't do that, I didn't even remember falling asleep. I looked back at Dad, he was staring at me, almost looked guilty, like a little kid who got caught snooping through his parent's room. "I turned off your radio and light and covered you in a blanket. You just looked so peaceful. I was just trying to do a fatherly thing, you know? I am sorry if I made you angry again." I felt my mouth go dry. This wasn't him, it couldn't be. This was the man who just made me think he was the biggest ass in the world. He didn't care and if he did, this was, to be quite honest, the best time to act like, I really needed to be cared about right now. Through the fourteen years of my life I had never had a fatherly figure, and I have always wanted one, and now . . . I am kind of getting one. He seems to be trying. I guess the questions are: Is he just fronting? Putting up another guilt trip? Is he in a deeper state of denial, looking for someone to feel sorry for him, to save him? But this was only the second day, that can't be, but shit happens and digs you into a deeper hole. If this is a fatherly act, how long will it really last?

I stared into his tired grey eyes, waiting for something to pass over them, but there was nothing they stayed the same. No, it wasn't a show. He was sorry and I believed him. I nodded, "Me, too." I wasn't talking about my being a pain the ass. Tears filled my eyes again. I wonder when I would finally be myself again. I wonder if I could ever think of Olga, or my mother with out crying. I was doubting it right now. I found myself being pulled to him. It was my legs, they were walking to him. I flung my arms around him. I buried my face into his chest, he was like a giant compared to me. I sobbed into his ragged robe. I didn't ever want to go through anything like this ever again, I never wanted to lose anyone again. I just couldn't lose anyone again. How do people stay sane after losing everyone? His arms had wrapped around me, a comforting gesture. I don't know how long I stood there and cried, but it felt too long. I sniffled and took a step back.

He wiped his eyes and sniffled. He cleared his throat, "Hungry?" Quick change of topic. I shook my head. Big lie there, I was starved; I hadn't eaten since I was out yesterday. But the thought of food just made me feel nauseous. "You sure?" I nodded. Bob shrugged his shoulders, "Okay, well I am starved. I think I am going to make a big breakfast, just in case you want something to eat later, then I am going to go to work early. I will tell you before I leave, kid." He smiled weakly before turning his back to me and marching down the hall. I watched him leave me to myself. He disappeared around the corner going down stairs. I leaned against the doorframe; I was so worried for him. He was going to let the denial and worries, and lies but up inside him so much that he was going to break down and something will happen, and when that something happens it's going to bad. My heart sank; I didn't want it to be bad, but it was just a matter of time. Damn it.

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**Author's Note –** Wow, I forgot about this story. Well anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. The story will go up then down then up for a while with a few downs, then down then up and it was stay up with a few downs...make sense at all? Well anyway, READ AND REVIEW!!! 


	4. Drawbacks

**Disclaimer –** I DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT own "Hey Arnold!" sorry for the confusion.

**Disclaimer –** I don't own any songs, bands, or CD's either.

**Author's Note –** I left the story off at an awkward spot, I don't know what to do with it. I guess it will all come to me as I write.

**Author's Note –** Thank you guys for the wonderful reviews, that just makes me want to continue to write. Thank you.

**Author's Note – **By the way, please enjoy and don't forget to review afterwards. Thank you.

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**Chapter Four: Drawbacks**

It was about two and a half, three hours later when Dad told me he was leaving. He gave me a hug and everything, this was scaring me a little, but at the same time I was enjoying it. Don't tell anyone. I knew it would all end though, like a flip of a switch and I would be left alone again, no one to care for me. Not that I needed it or anything. I was sitting on the floor, my back to the wall, knees drawn up to my chest, kind of rocking back and forth, it was very infantile. But I was feeling a bit on the childish side. Lost.

I listened to Dad leave the house and drive off, tires squealing loudly down the street. Talk about burning rubber. He was going to be early to work he said, but it was about one-fifteen, he usually got to work at nine every morning, sometimes even earlier. I guess today was special.

My room was dark if you didn't count the glare from my lamp across the room. The shades were down; I didn't want to see the world outside right now. But a walk sounded nice all the same, maybe so I could clear my mind, or get fresh air. Tonight. I would do that tonight. I would be alone if I did that tonight. Maybe I could think of something constructive to do while I am out, like find that tall building I have been thinking about. I sighed and slammed my head hard against the wall and it hurt, but that didn't stop me from doing it one last time. I wanted to scream, to prey that this was all a bad dream, to hit something, to hurt myself, commit suicide, but did these things really make things better? No to all, except the preying. I wanted life to be normal. I hated being depressed.

I stood up, one hand wringing the other, rubbing at the skin till it burned, pulling at the skin, it was uncomfortable, but it kind of kept my mind on something else. I walked quickly pacing to the other side of the room and grabbed a book. Yes, maybe I could read. Good idea, Helga. I read the title, Forever and the Night, I don't remember where I had gotten it but I started to read it. Tried to read it. I just stared at the letters, reading them, not getting into the story at all, not remember what I read. I kept thinking about when all would go down hill for my father, about my mother's funeral, when would that be? Would Dad come? Would Olga find out and show up? I kept thinking about what would make me feel better, all this pain and hatred was building up inside of me and I was going to let it out in the worse way, or that's what everyone always says. Was that true? I was too distracted to read, I couldn't eat, I didn't _want _to talk to anyone, and if I did, there would be no one. They are all at school, unless they are skipping, or have their cell phone turned on. No, I am not talking to anyone about this. This is between family only, no one else would give a damn. I didn't want anyone else giving a damn, not right now.

The pages in the book crinkled underhand as I growled to myself, just thinking about this all. I screamed and threw the book against the wall. The smack was dull, but loud. It did no damage to the wall, being paperback and all, and fell straight down into a large circular black and white chair that clashed harshly with the blue wall paper and practically took up the entire wall. The scream felt nice, but my anger still boiled and I felt like crying again. I didn't want to spend my life sitting in my room crying. I turned around kicked my closet door next to my bookcase. Behind the door the sound items falling caught my attention. I sniffled and stared at the door.

Cautiously, I opened the door and looked down. I ended up looking at a picture of me and my mom when I was three, maybe four years old. I was blowing a raspberry on her face and she was giggling. We looked so happy; she had a bright smile across her face, her true smile. She was happier when I was younger before I got bitter and mean. The glass to the frame was shattered all over the floor. I smiled faintly, remembering some of that day. I would always have more neutral, some happy, some bad memories of my mother. I would have more of these than I ever would of her death. The thought made me smile more and tears trickled down my cheeks, but since yesterday, I would never have anymore happy or bad thoughts of her. She wasn't here to share any times with, not that she really wanted to when she was here, not when I got older. She was only truly happy when Olga was around. Had I ran off and eloped, she wouldn't have killed herself. She wouldn't have given a damn.

The smiled dropped from my lips and I sobbed hard. She didn't love me. That was the truth, wasn't it? I felt my knees go weak and fell. Sharp stinging pains shot up my thighs and I gasped. I looked down and saw nothing at first, the light was too dull. I rocked back onto my bottom and looked at my legs, blood had seeped through the denim of my pants I had on since yesterday. A few shards of the glass bit painfully into the top of my shins, centimeters away from my knees, not deep enough that I would need stitches, I hoped. I swallowed hard and held my breath as I pulled them out, the blood flowed my freely and I screamed out in pain. This was some of the worst physical fucking pain I have experience in a while. I threw the glass down with the rest of the shards and stood up, but it hurt too much I fell again. I couldn't walk on my own for sure, or hold my own weight. I grabbed the edge of the bookcase and pulled myself up, the pain was screaming up my legs to my knees, my sides, threatening my legs to give out again. I managed to make my way to the end of the bookcase next to the door that led to the hallway. I winced and swallowed back another sob. I reached out and grabbed hold of the knob, one hand still on the furniture, all my weight on that one arm. I flung the door open and grabbed the doorframe, holding myself up painfully. I didn't know how I'd get down the hall without falling again. I lowered myself to the ground, bad idea. My knees bent and the cuts felt like they were tearing further open. I cried, tears stinging my eyes, trying to hold back another wail. I straightened out my legs and sat flat on my butt. I managed to scoot on my butt to the bath room.

I grabbed the edge of the counter and lifted myself. I flipped the light switch and the brightness burned my eyes, making me flinch. I fell harshly on to my butt again, that was the only way to really get down without that ripping pain in my legs. My legs were spread eagle in front of me; I was a gymnast in my spare time, surprise, surprise. The splits were easy for me. I leaned forward and opened the doors to the cabinet below the sink and grabbed the First-Aid kit. In side was everything I needed, I grabbed some anti-bacterial ointment, gauze, tape, and Betadine. This was going to hurt badly when I was finally finished.

Setting the objects on the counter top I helped myself up again and sat opposite the items, the sink in between. I sat forward, legs hanging limply in front of me. I didn't even want to try to move them, it hurt too badly. Too bad for me, eh? I leaned forward and rolled up my pant legs, it was difficult. The sticky blood glued the fabric to my skin, in result, pain. Blood was all down my legs to my were-white-but-now-crimson socks. I grabbed a washcloth that hung on a ring beside me and ran it under warm water with liquid soap over it and slowly placed it on the cuts on my left leg first. The cuts were deep and gaping, it looked absolutely nauseating. I am pretty sure I was over exaggerating, but I could have sworn I saw bone. Nah. I bit my bottom lip and whimpered as I scrubbed at the cuts, trying to disinfect them. When I was finished, I let out a breath. I looked down at the cloth, a large portion of it was soaked with blood. It looked like I let it sit in red dye. I looked back to the wound and it was filled with fresh blood again. These were going to take a while. I ran the rag under warm water and repeated the process for the right leg, this one really hurt me. Usually when you do something painful once, it doesn't hurt the next time you do it, but I guess that isn't always true because this pain was retching. I almost did throw up.

I let out a thick breath and threw the blood soaked rag into the sink, running more warm water over it. I wringed it out and grabbed the Betadine, dabbing just a little on the rag. This stuff really hurts, like I was just pouring salt on the wound. I held my breath and rubbed it over the left wound first, I whimpered, it was high and loud, almost a scream. I blinked and tears rolled down my cheeks. I was supposed to keep it on there for three minutes then wash it off. I did. Excruciating pain, like it was acid seeping into my veins. This worse than salt. I repeated on the right leg and actually did scream out, bawled, slammed my fist on the counter. I was breathless when I washed the Betadine off the wound, still crying. I think my right leg was worse than the left, or maybe it was all in my head. I rubbed the anti-bacterial ointment over the cuts and that stung, then gauzed them up, and last was the tape, which, for some reason, was the hardest to do, but after about five tries the tape finally stayed. I rinsed out the washcloth then threw it in the trashcan, it was useless now. I left everything on the counter, I would need to use it later anyway and got down slowly, all my weight on my arms. I slowly moved my arms from the counter, it had taken me forever to just scoot to the bathroom, I hoped, even in the worst of pain I will be in, I can stand and walk to my room. I couldn't, I instantly fell, arms flying forward, catching myself from slamming my face into the bathroom wall. I pushed myself back, my butt bumping into the counter and all my weight was on my legs again. I whimpered and fell on the wounds. I yelled out in pain and slammed my fist into the hard linoleum floor. I pulled my legs out from under my body weight and straightened them in front of me. My pant legs were still rolled up, I could look down at check out if the gauze was still in place, if blood was seeping through. The tape didn't fail me but the gauze did, I hadn't put enough on, blood was already leaking through. I would gauze them up better next time. I was to do this routine every three hours for the next couple of days, until everything was well enough again. I turned around and scooted slowly to my room. It was really hard to do this fast without the cuts feeling like they were being torn open.

I made my way over to my bed and looked at the clock; it was five minutes past two. Shit. When hurt, time seems to fly by. I lay down on the bed, legs stretched out in front of me. I relaxed my whole body into my down comforter and realized for the first time today, I had forgotten all the horrible thoughts that kept haunting me. Pain just made me forget about them. Was that a sign from Miriam? A roundabout way of telling me to just get over it, just forget about? Life will work out fine? I was probably overlooking this. I wouldn't be surprised. I folded my arms under my head and look up at the ceiling, looking at the pattern of the stars, deep in thought. Was there really a Heaven or a Hell? If so, which one did Miriam go to? Limbo. She wouldn't go to either, she has unfinished business. That was Olga; she will wander this house until her soul was finally at rest. But are there really ghosts? Yes.

The pink and black phone on my nightstand rang annoyingly next to my head. I growled and didn't move anything thing but my left arm, groping the stand for the receiver. I grabbed it and put it to my ear. "Hello?" My voice came out soft and lazy, like I had been sleeping. It felt like I was sleeping, like I had fallen asleep with my eyes open. Could you do that?

There was no real greeting, just, "Where were you today?" The high, childish voice of Phoebe hadn't changed much; it matured a little, but still sounded like she was eight, maybe nine years old. This wouldn't help her when she wanted a credit card at eighteen. Phoebe was one to worry about me, as if she were my mother, or my sister. I shook my head and swallowed hard at the thought, maybe it was good thing. I didn't have either now.

I took a deep breath, "I am sick." I lied. I never lied to her, but it sure as hell wasn't going to tell her what happened, best friend or not. I didn't want to talk about it...to anyone. I wasn't over it and I didn't like the thought of crying about it in front of everyone. Literally.

"Oh. You don't sound sick. Just tired. Did I wake you?" She was pushing. Even if it wasn't asking why I was lying to her, she had caught it and was trying to trap me some how. There were reasons why Phoebe was a genius.

"Yeah, Pheebs. I was just resting, trying to get over this so I can go to school tomorrow. I am just really sick right now. I have been vomiting my guts up all day. I feel absolutely horrible." I groaned a little, laying it on a little thick, hoping she would start to believe me.

"Mm-hmm," she hummed. "Well, do you want me to come over and make you some soup or something?" She was sounding more suspicious than friendly or helpful. She didn't believe me at all. Damn her. But still, I didn't give in. I had already begun a lie, I may as well finish it until she calls it.

I shook my head into the phone, "Oh, no. This is _really_ contagious. Dad brought it home from work and passed it on to Mom—" My voice broke as I said it and had to clear my voice to speak normally, or as normal as I was going to sound, "Mom and me." I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed hard.

Phoebe sighed and if I could see her, she probably rolled her eyes as well. "Helga, you never lie to me. What's going on?" She asked firmly, the tiniest bit of anger heating her voice.

I closed my eyes and pang of guilt jumped in my stomach. "Nothing, I am sick." I claimed.

"I am coming over." She threatened.

I looked down at the foot of my bed, "I can't walk, not right now, probably not until tomorrow. So, I won't be able to answer the door." Ahh, the truth and it felt kind of good.

"Well, why didn't you call an ambulance or your dad?" She questioned, she still didn't believe me. I guess that's the reason you shouldn't lie?

I was really growing irritated with her questions. "Maybe I did Phoebe, maybe that is the reason I wasn't at school today. Did you possibly think that before you accused me of lying to you?" I shot at her and I felt terrible. Every little thing was getting to me. Old habits seem to die hard.

"The only reason I think you are lying to me is because Mr. Hanks asked me about your family emergency. He thought I knew because I am your best friend. I told him it's very unladylike to gossip because I had no clue what he was talking about, and it would be gossip for me tell him something I was unsure of." She paused and was quiet for almost way too long. "So, what's the family emergency?" She asked softly, it was almost a whisper, very sensitive, caring. No one ever sounded like that.

I frowned. "I don't know what you are talking about, Phoebe, you're delirious."

"If I remember correctly, Helga. You're the one with the _"stomach flu"._ So wouldn't it be you who is delirious?" She asked angrily. "I am coming over," She said again.

I sighed, giving in. Fine, whatever, I couldn't stop her. It was her choice. It wasn't like I could answer the door anyway. "Fine, Pheebs, the key is taped under the ledge to the door, if it's not there, then I will somehow find a way to get down stairs without killing myself, or drop my keys out my window for you. Just call if you can't get in."

"Will do." She sounded absolutely giddy, happy she won? Probably. Phoebe was funny like that, literally and metaphorically. "See you in a bit." She hung up without another word. I dropped the phone on the stand, I wasn't going even try to hang up the phone without looking, and I wasn't going to look in case I would have to roll over to hang up the phone properly and fuck up my legs even more than they already are.

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**Author's Note –** Wow. It seems that my chapters just get more and more swearing in them, oh, well. But if it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me.

**Author's Note – **You like? I thought this chapter was really kind of boring, I didn't like it much. Oh, well. Review!!! Review!!! I command you!!! Hey, that rhymed. (looks around) Muahahaha!!!


	5. Seventy Times 7

**Disclaimer – **I don't own 'Hey Arnold!'

**Disclaimer –** I don't own any bands, CD's, or song titles.

**Author's Note – **Thanks for the reviews! You guys are awesome. Uh...read and review!!!

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**Chapter Five: Seventy Times 7**

There wasn't a phone call but a soft thudding up the stairs and straight to my room. I guess Phoebe found the key. I looked over and there was her small figure standing in the doorway, face looking the slightest bit smug, I guess she didn't notice my legs, yet. To her I was just lying on the bed, enjoying my day off from school. P'sh, I wish. She walked over to the bed, no doubt about to say something regarding my present state, or that I shouldn't have lied to her about being sick, that I shouldn't have lied to her at all. But she didn't, she just looked down at me then my legs, jaw hanging slightly open. "Oh, my God! Helga, what happened?" Oh, now she believed me.

I smiled a little, it didn't feel right. "I fell." I looked past her and pointed to the open closet door with its shattered glass and smallest stain of blood from me. She turned around, looking then back to me, she looked almost sick. Of what, she couldn't see much from here, maybe she had an idea. "What?" I was acting like I was just dandy, like the fall didn't mean anything, like I had just tripped, a mere accident. No, Phoebe I wasn't standing in the closet crying about my mother, thinking she didn't love me, thinking she never did. Not at all. How could you think that? Maybe I was the one in denial. Nah.

"Are you okay?" The words left her harshly, like I was supposed to tell her right away, right when it happened. I nodded and she looked back at my legs. "Can I see?" Her voice came out thick with disgust. It was like she was really saying, _'No, don't show me, Helga! This is positively revolting!'_

I looked up at her, "You sure?" She nodded; she was very quiet now, like small child about to play with a venomous snake, hesitant. I sat up slowly and pulled back the gauze and tape slowly, the tape hurt, feeling like I was trying to tear off the first couple of layers of my skin. I hissed out a breath through clenched teeth. I was pretty sure I wanted to see my legs more than Phoebe wanted to; they were still bleeding pretty badly or so it looked. I wasn't so sure now if I didn't need to go to the hospital. The blood flow had slowed a little, trying to heal into a hideous scab, not that scabs are supposed to be beautiful. The coloring around it was bright red, a few purple and blue spots sprinkled over the red. Bruising, which meant this was going to hurt for a while. Great. I just hope I am able to walk tomorrow, be it funny looking or not, I need to get out of here. This place is a bad omen.

She turned her head swiftly, looking at my face. "Why isn't your mom helping you?" she scolded. "She does know, doesn't she?" Her dark brown, nearly black, eyes stared into me like tiny balls of fire, daring me to confess the truth to her.

I tucked a lock of my blonde hair behind my ear, eyes watering, not looking at her anymore. "Uh—" I stammered. I didn't know what to say. "She should." My throat sounded clogged and shaky, tight. All the sudden my face felt hot, on fire. Not tears. Please, Helga, don't cry, not in front of your best friend, she'll figure it out. She's too damn smart for her own good. I swallowed back a sob.

"Ar—Are you okay?" She asked, her voice had softened, like silk against skin.

I nodded, "Yeah, my legs just hurt really badly right now." I stuck the gauze to my leg again, gently. I sniffled and wiped my tears that rolled down my cheeks and lay back down. Deep, even breaths, that's all. Just take deep, even breaths.

She grabbed the chair from my desk and pulled it next to my bed, sitting down. "Why isn't your mother here, tending your wounds?" She asked, she reminded me of a counselor. I don't really like counselors, but I couldn't say I didn't like my best friend, I just didn't like what she was doing.

I glanced at her, frowning. "Because, _Phoebe_, I can take care of myself!" I sighed heavily. "I don't need my mother here taking care of me like a little baby, because that's not what I am." I ground my teeth, looking at my hands wringing one another again. I felt the tears coming again. I did want her to be here to take care of me, but of course if she were here, this wouldn't have happened. I would have been happily at school.

Phoebe nodded, "Sorry, Helga. But she knows, right?" She was making sure I had told my dead mother that I sliced up my legs pretty badly because I was crying over her. Oh, yeah, Mom knew.

I sobbed hard and nodded, I couldn't talk. Tears leaked from the corner of my eyes, sliding down the sides of my face to the bottom of my earlobes, tickling. I would have turned to my side, but I didn't dare try, so I just turned my head and sobbed.

Phoebe caught on fast. "Where is she, is she the family emergency?" She paused, like she was in thought. "I mean I saw all the alcohol bottles on the coffee table and I even smelled food, I figured she was home. Helga, is she okay?" It was Phoebe who sound like she was about to cry along with me. I didn't move, except for my back bouncing a little from crying so hard. See, I told you I couldn't talk about it anyone. "Helga . . ." She said my name like I was small child, it was full of sympathy. I hated that voice.

I wiped the tears from my face but that didn't stop me from continuing to cry. I looked over at her. She was just sitting there, staring at me, tears filled her eyes. She shouldn't have been crying, there was no reason for her to. "Why are you crying?" I managed.

She shrugged her shoulders. Her small, squeaky voice was a tad bit higher than usual, "I don't know." She let out a breath and cleared her throat. "I guess I was just thinking the worst for you mother, thinking she was dead or seriously hurt. Pretty stupid, huh?" My bottom lip quivered and tears flowed harder out of my eyes as I looked at her. She didn't even know she nailed the truth and I wasn't going to tell her that. I didn't want her to worry about me, I really didn't need it. Who was I kidding, of course I needed it. I couldn't even walk at the moment because all this shit happened, because I was letting all this get to me.

Phoebe's throat worked as she swallowed hard, she stared at me. "Helga, please tell me she went out." Her voice was pleading for reassurance, eyes watching mine.

I sniffled. "Somethin' like that." The words were stifled, I almost didn't hear myself. 'Somthin' like that', it was kind of the truth, she went out...to the morgue. I would be seeing her again at her funeral, but she wouldn't be coming back. Damn it, now I was crying harder.

Phoebe removed her glasses and wiped her eyes. "What does that mean?" She asked placing her glasses back on her nose.

I closed my eyes, squeezing them tight. "It means I want to be left alone." I know it didn't make any sense at all, but maybe she would quit pushing. She is one to get subtle hints.

Phoebe sniffled. "Sure, Helga." She, again, sounded like a counselor. "I will call you later, just to see how you are doing, okay? Get some sleep." I nodded and she stood up, smiling a little. She felt sorry for me, I know Phoebe well enough to know when she feels sorry for someone, and this was one of those times. She probably felt sorry that I couldn't talk to her or wanted to be left alone, or because I lying in bed bawling my eyes out. Hell, if I were her, I would feel sorry for me, too. I _do_ feel sorry for me.

"Bye." She walked out of my room and started to close the door but stopped, leaving it open. She probably realized it was a bitch to open the door when you couldn't walk, or maybe it was common courtesy, it was open when she came here, it'll be open when she left. Which ever, I was grateful; it would save me some time.

The phone was still off the hook, I should have asked Pheebs to hang up the phone while she was here. Damn it, Helga. I scooted close to the edge of the bed and grabbed the receiver and placed it in the cradle. I was close to falling off the bed, but caught myself and moved back to the middle. I was extremely tired, maybe it was because I was lying down or because I was crying, or maybe it was because I hadn't eaten in a while. Who knows? I touched the lamp two times and it turned off, one of those ghetto early nineties touch lamps. Vintage! Please.

I yawned and closed my eyes. It wasn't hard to fall asleep, within seconds it seemed I was in a deep slumber.

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I opened my eyes and was staring into blackness, the only light coming from my clock radio next to my head. I blinked and looked over at the bright white light glaring into my eyes. It was eight minutes past eleven. I had fallen asleep about three o'clock. Wow, I must have exhausted to sleep for eight hours. I turned my head back to the ceiling, the stars weren't glowing, not enough light had shone on them for them to glow yet. I sighed, it was heavy and peaceful, I still a bit in the dreamy state. I sat up slowly and flung my legs out of bed and rubbed my eyes. I looked at my door, it was shut now. Hmm, Dad was home. I stood up, my legs holding my weight without me realizing it. I was still tired enough to forget that my legs had deep gashes in them; in fact my legs were the last things on my mind. I stretched my arms out, my shoulders popped loudly and it felt oh so good. I smiled and stretched out my back next, something popped loudly, almost like bone snapping in half on my lower back, I flinched. That couldn't have been healthy. I smacked my lips and frowned, I needed to brush my teeth. Something sharp pinched in my gut uncomfortably, it was my bladder. I also hadn't used the bathroom all day either, it felt like my bladder was going to explode. One thought leads to another and you realize there was so much you haven't done in one day. I was only planning on staying up for a little while, long enough to use the bathroom and possibly catch up on my dental hygiene. I started walking, more like limping, to the door and stopped; pain was shooting all through my legs.

_Why are my legs hurting?_ The thought invaded my brain before I could stop it. I looked down slowly and smiled. I was standing! My legs weren't failing me. If I could have I would have done a happy dance. As I started waddling to the bathroom, another thought invaded my brain; I was going to have to clean these guys. That takes a while, and in the tired state I was in, it was going to even longer. Oh, well. I shrugged my shoulders and walked into the bathroom, flipping on the lights. The light was bright and harsh, making me flinch, making my head hurt. I blinked a few times, looked at the counter, something looked different, but I couldn't remember quite what. I shrugged the thought off and made my way to the toilet. I was walking like I was drunk. I guess you shouldn't try to walk when you barely could and when you couldn't see that well. I used the bathroom, washed my hands, brushed my teeth and almost fell asleep rinsing off my toothbrush. I jerked my head up and stared into my reflection, I looked like shit ran over three times with a Hummer. I turned to leave and remembered my legs and sighed. I staggered over to the cabinet and got everything out. That was what was different, the First-Aid supplies was put away. Damn it, Dad. I sat everything on the floor and grabbed the towel out of the trash; it was the only thing in the trashcan, so I had no problem with using it again. I stood up, towel in hand and washed it thoroughly then sat back down on the floor with the rest of the contents. I pulled the gauze off slowly and it woke me up, it pain was terrible. I finally got it off and sighed with relief. Under the gauze the blood had stopped flowing, forming rough bulky scabs. I ran my fingers over them and it hurt. The bruising around the wound was no longer red, but black, purple, and blue. I repeated my routine from earlier, excluding washing the gashes; I didn't think they needed to be washed. I just started with the Betadine, it didn't hurt nearly as badly as it had when they were fresh, but it still felt like I rubbing acid over my flesh, or washing my wounds with fire. When it came to the gauze and tape I learned I was able to get the tape to stick on the first try. How I was learning so quickly.

I put everything away, not bothering to throw the rag away again, I would need this again. I stood up and frowned as my stomach rumbled. I was starving. I don't think I have gone this long without food in my life. I looked at the clock that stuck on the mirror, trying to read the small print of numbers. 11:29P.M. It was late, I will eat tomorrow. Maybe. Probably. I yawned and turned off the light to the bathroom and found myself in utter darkness. If I didn't know my house like the back of my hand, I would have been in trouble. I staggered to my bed and plopped down. I should really get up again and change out of these bloody jeans into my pajamas. My eyes began to drift shut; I guess that eight hours was enough sleep for me. Hmm, these were comfortable for now. I yawned, half asleep and was out light a light again.

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**Author's Note –** This chapter was boring too. Ah, oh, well. Review, review. Thank you!

**Author's Note –** I am trying to concoct a new story, something not so depressing. Something for Halloween. We'll see.


	6. Screamer

Disclaimer - I don't own 'Hey Arnold!'

Disclaimer - I don't own any bands, CD's, or song titles.

Author's Note - HA! I figured it out. Sorry I lied, I figured out what to do. My apologies, don't kill me.

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Chapter Six: Screamer

A loud thud against the wall behind me woke me up with a start, I was breathless first thing in the morning for the second morning in a row, I needed to stop waking up like this. I looked up and my hand was resting on my pillow, knuckles against the wall. Damn hand. I closed my eyes and lay there for a moment before opening them and looking at the covered window. Bright sunlight glowed around the white and pink shades, indicating it was day, later in the day if I knew better. I looked over at the clock, 11:11 A.M. close enough. I yawned long and loud and it felt nice. I sighed and stretch my arms and legs out, bad idea. The scabs felt like they were being ripped open, I squeaked a little in pain and looked down at them. I sat up and brought my knees up. I was able to do so without any pain. I smiled with relief. I peeled back the gauze gently, they hadn't opened at all and I was grateful.

I got out of bed and suspected to fall when I stood up, but didn't, although the pain was great. It shot all through my legs like Charlie Horse and it was difficult to walk. Was last night a dream, because it hadn't hurt like this at all. My door was open, either dad was still home or he hadn't bothered to check on me. Oh, well, work is probably all that's in his cranium right now. I hobbled to my dresser and pulled out a pair of faded blue jeans, a plain red T-shirt, and my unmentionables. Time for a shower. I looked over at the opened closet door, I would have to clean that up some time, didn't want to have another accent. These last two days have been too intense, I needed a little break from everything. I wiped a hand over my face and sighed. _Just get around it, Helga._

I walked into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me. I sat the clothing on the counter top and started the shower. The water was shockingly cold, it took a while for it to heat up. I stripped to nothing and realized that I felt very insecure about my body, like someone was going to barge through the door and see me. I hopped into the shower quickly, like that would save me, and closed the curtain, the water was warm against my skin. It's funny, even in June a nice warm shower always feels good. I showered, being careful with my wounds. When I was done I felt better, not any happier but better, being clean always made me feel better. I sat on the toilet, a towel wrapped around me, with all the First-Aid supplies spread out. I did the whole routine, I finally realized why it didn't hurt too badly last night, I didn't have soggy scabs and probably because I practically asleep. Today the Betadine hurt, it was able to work on the wounds. I gauzed myself up and got dressed. I chose a baggy pair of jeans instead of the tighter fitting ones, easier on my legs. I towel dried my hair and combed all the knots out then pulled my hair atop my head into a high ponytail, strands of hair that would go back dropped around my face, decorating it nicely, or as nicely as it was going to get.

My stomach rumbled as I stepped out of the bathroom. Hmm, food sounded good. I walked into my bedroom and looked at the clock, 12:16 P.M. Yeah, I guess I could try to eat. I put on some deodorant, pulled on my dark grey hoodie and two sprays of vanilla body spray then grabbed my bag. There was no way I was going to eat here, I needed out of this house, I needed to be somewhere else. Keys? Where are my keys? On my bed when I left for Phoebe's, what about now? I patted around on my bed, looking for them and gave up. Screw it.

I made my way down the stairs slowly, safely, not falling on my face. I didn't look over in the direction of the living room and hurried out of the house. The air down here was a lot thicker down here than the air upstairs. Uncomfortable, suffocating. Maybe it was just the summer air. I tried to kneel down to feel for the key and it hurt, when I got into a comfortable position, the key wasn't there. Why hadn't I thought of this when I got here on Sunday? Too much was on my mind to remember we had a spare key. I frowned and tried to open the door, locked from the inside. Phoebe either took the key or left it on the end table by door. My guess was she left it on the table. See, bad omen. I sighed and stood up and walked down the street slowly and carefully, eyes pointed to the ground, making sure I don't trip or step in something. I gnawed on my lip and smiled a little. Everything just kept my mind on Mom and Dad and Olga. Why? Guilt, I knew that much. Sorrow, too. I missed Mom and Olga. Jealousy was what took me over yesterday, but still, I wonder, did she love me? I don't know. I just don't know.

Mr. Green was standing outside his shop, sweeping. Why didn't he just get more help? If I wasn't a vegetarian then I would help him. Meat wasn't my thing. Sorry Mr. Green. I pulled my hood on my head and hurried my way past him as fast as I could, which was slow. If he knew it was me, he didn't say anything. Good thing because I still would have ignored him. I slowed down a lot more and winced in pain, but it was worth it, I didn't need to be interrogated right now. Once from Phoebe was enough, and that wasn't her worst, that wasn't bad at all. I looked over at an outdoor Italian restaurant, cheap good food and practically empty, hopefully it would stay that way, if not then I was leaving, people were too much for me right now, I would have a panic attack. I walked to a table and took a seat, sighing. All the weight off my legs felt like a relief. The waiter came over and handed me a menu, I thanked him and took it. He didn't question me about school. I was paying him, I didn't think he cared.

A voice sounded, soft and unsure beside me. "Helga?" I knew I should have sat more toward the back. I looked up and was staring up at a well dressed young man, dark grey T-shirt, denim jeans that sagged slightly and pair off black high-tops. Arnold. As much sentimental value that stupid blue hat had, he finally decided to just put it on display in his room. He looked a lot more attractive without it, I wasn't always staring at the little baby cap on his head. His hair was a mess of short blond spikes, I was happy when he cut his hair short again. He went through a _rock star _stage from sixth to the middle of eighth grade and realized that long hair and eights retro wasn't really the thing anymore. I had to tell him that.

I was seeing a lot of people lately I didn't want to see, okay, only him. I frowned and looked back down at the front of the menu that read "Lunch Specials". I knew he wouldn't take that hint but I could always try to act like he wasn't there. It didn't work. "Hey," He came around and sat across from me.

I looked up and blinked once. "Yes?" I raised my brow and stared at him. I guess the "friendly" Helga was gone, and she didn't feel like coming back until she feels better, until things got better and I didn't know when that was going to be.

Arnold stared at me, looking hurt and I suddenly felt bad. I wanted to ask him to forgive me and tell him everything. He was the only person who could do that to me. Yeah, I am weak. It has to be because I was in love with him when I was younger. _In love_. Strong words. I liked him immensely. Yeah, that was it. "We missed you at school, where were you?" He asked. He was ignoring the fact that I didn't want to talk to him right now. He was good at ignoring things. Maybe if I screamed at him we would leave me the hell alone.

"Where do you think, _Football-head_?" Wow, I hadn't called him that since fifth grade, how childish. Oh, well, not like I really cared right now. Okay so I felt a little bad. Damn it, I didn't want to feel this way. I didn't want to regret the things I did or said, but I did.

The look of hurt was a lot thicker now. No . . . his expression was more like . . . _Pissed_. Yes, he was pissed off royally now and it was my fault. "Ya know, Helga, I just wanted to ask how you were doing, I knew it would be a mistake." Arnold scoffed and stood up, pushing the seat in violently. The chaired slammed loudly against the table, catching the attention and some pedestrians who were walking past. Arnold, violent? Who knew? I stared up at him in shock, eyes wide and I felt heat creep up my face, embarrassed. The waiter stood two tables away, and stared at us, contemplating giving me the glass of water he had in his hand. I looked over at him then to Arnold who began to walk off. The waiter rushed past Arnold, cutting him off and sat the water down the hurried back to his spot. Yeah, well, I wouldn't want to be in his spot, either, between a, I guess it could be called a "fight" or maybe it was an argument.

I almost bit my tongue to hold back the words but they slipped out, "Look, I am sorry." I looked down and bit my bottom lip, staring at the menu again. The seat in front of my slid out again and I was pretty sure he was sitting across from me, unless he was going to slam it one last time, but I doubted he would. I looked up and he was sitting down, staring at me. No expression, almost like he was studying me. "What?" I almost screamed it, but maintained my temper.

He looked down and slipped his shoulder bag off, setting on the ground next to him, making himself comfortable. "Phoebe told me she saw you yesterday, said you were badly hurt." He glanced up, brown eyes looking to mine. "You okay?" He was whispering, it was almost intimate. I finally figured out that when things get serious, people whisper like they are afraid or telling a secret.

I turned in my chair and reached down without thinking and pulled up my pant leg, I pulled the fabric down and showed him the bulky scabs. His hand reached and stopped, "Can I?" I didn't look at him, didn't answer. It didn't mean yes, but he ran his fingers over it anyway, caressed it. I should have thought this was freaky, bizarre, but I didn't. I was ready to scream out, expecting pain when his fingers made contact, but it didn't hurt at all, it was soothing, gentle, like he knew what he was doing. I smiled a little to myself as I watched his hand memorize the cut then slapped it away. _Bad, Helga!_ I pushed his hand away, "What did you do?" I was looked at him this time, but he was still impressed with my cut leg. I didn't tell him the other one was hurt to, I didn't need to go through the state of mind again, feeling all mushy and happy that he was finally willingly touching me.

A small itch started on my neck on down, more of a tickle really. Nervous. "I--I, uh, I tripped." I cover the cut back up and rolled my pant leg down again, sitting forward. I grabbed my water and took a sip, it was cool and felt good going down. My first thing to drink in days. I set the glass down and was looking at the menu, even though I knew what I wanted, it just kept me from looking up at Arnold who I knew was staring at me. I felt the his eyes on me like heavy weights.

"Really?" He didn't sound convinced, but I didn't exactly say it too convincing. Remember not to stutter when trying to lie to someone you have known since you were four years old.

I looked over at the waiter, he looked like he didn't want to come back if Arnold was here. Fat chance for the waiter, I don't think Arnold was going to leave until I told him everything, that would be a while. I looked back at Arnold, "Yes." I took a sip of my water and began to drum my fingers on the table top.

He cleared his voice then said, "I don't believe you."

Sneering at him, I said, "You know what, Arnold? Don't believe me, then. I don't care." Yeah, this attitude was working, it would chase people off and I could be isolated like I have always wanted, like when I was in elementary school.

Arnold didn't budge, he just looked really hard at the table. Calling him childish names will get him to leave, but yelling won't…he was too complex for me. The waiter came over and hesitated, he had black hair that was smoothed back and tied into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. A black apron was tied around his waist over a pair of black slacks. He had a white button down shirt with the top button undone, and spit shined shoes. Snazzy. "Um, are you ready to order, Miss?" His voice was soft, intimidated. I nodded and told him my order, he jotted down my order then turned to Arnold and asked, "W-would you like a glass of water, sir?" He was afraid of Arnold? The gentlest guy in the universe? Yeah, that didn't make sense.

Arnold nodded and waited for the waiter to walk off before he said, "Why do you push everyone away? Phoebe said you practically broke down when she was over and she didn't know why." He was still looking down at the table.

I cocked my head to one side and stared at him, "So, is that what Phoebes does, is talk about me when I am not around?" I was more worried about my best friend talking about me then making another good friend on mine feel better. I was a true bitch, a selfish bitch.

Arnold shot his head up and looked at me. "Helga, she is worried about you." I could hear his control heavy in his voice when he said it, he was trying not to get mad at me. Arnold never got mad, he let everything pass, he was calm, coolheaded. I knew a way past his 'niceness'. He sighed and said, "I kind of am, too."

The glass of water was suddenly in both my hands, cool and smooth with water. I was circling it slowly in my hands, staring at the water. "Well, don't be." I said the words softly as I just stared at the cup I was swirling in my hands. I wanted to scream at him, tell him to leave me the hell alone, but I didn't, I couldn't. It seemed that I _couldn't_ do a lot of things.

I looked at Arnold, he was shaking his head slowly, staring at his hands that were resting on the table top. "I don't understand you, Helga." He looked up at me, "I have known you since we were little, what is so hard about talking to me, telling me something?" His brown eyes were so deep brown that you could drown in them, I may not be in love with him anymore, but he was kind of irresistible.

I looked down then up and opened my mouth then closed it. How what I supposed to answer that? I knew, "Because, I don't need to talk to anyone about anything. I am fine. Live with it, Arnold, not everyone is going to turn to you for _every_ little thing." Again there was the waiter, he always seemed to visit our table at the worst times. He set the water in front of Arnold and hurried off. Arnold took a swig of the water right away as if that would make all things better.

He ignored the last comment, maybe he didn't like the truth. "I know you better than that, Helga. Who was there for you the summer of fourth grade when you broke you mom's vase because we were playing tag in the house while you were _grounded_?" He was staring at me, a small, practically invisible smile on his lips. If I didn't look hard enough I wouldn't have caught it.

I raise my brow, "Phoebe." Arnold wasn't there until I wanted to talk about it, until I was calmer and I knew that was what he was getting at. Damn him. "Then you." I didn't even have to wait for him to say anything. "But that still doesn't mean I want to talk about it. So, just let it go." I paused and sighed, "Please?"

He nodded, an agreement. Why didn't I feel any better? "So, what have you been doing the last couple of days, other than being depressed and cutting yourself up?"

I smiled, it was bitter, and took a sip of my water. "Well, I guess sulking would fall into the category of 'depression', huh?" I looked at his hands that were folded together, resting on the table top. "Hiding, I guess." I admitted. I felt pressured, but I openly admitted it. I blame Arnold.

"Hiding from what?" He reminded me of a cop, how they lock you in a room and shine a light in your face, getting you to admit everything. He was rational.

I slid my gaze up to him. "I thought we were going to drop this." I snapped out. Defensive, me? Nah. Okay, maybe just a little.

He tilted his head one side, "You were the one who brought it up. I just asked a question." There are reasons why I don't like questions. I usually don't like my answers.

"Fine." I paused, thinking of something to ask him. When nothing came to mind, I asked the question back, "What have you been doing?"

Arnold took a sip of his water. "School, hanging with Gerald. You know, the usual." He watched my eyes, what was he looking at, or for? "How are your parents?" The question caught me by surprise, making my shiver, my stomach jerked with surprise. I coughed, choking, so much a little question could do. I took a drink of my water, that didn't help. I coughed harder, chugging the water. "Helga, are you alright?" Stupid question, Arnold. I was choking, what do you think?

I held up my index finger and slammed the glass down on the table top and coughed hard again, slimy water worked it's way up my throat then back down. I nodded, "Yeah, I am fine." I swallowed and coughed, patting my chest and let out a heavy breath. I looked at him and he was staring at me, just _staring_ at me. What was he looking at? "Yeah?" I cleared my throat, it hurt now. I hate choking on spit.

He slid his water over to me. "You sure you're okay?" Why was a good friend to me when no one else cared? I didn't ask, I knew the answer. He was good friends with everyone, I wasn't a special case. I didn't feel like crying again so I let the thought drift off.

I pushed his water back to him and frowned, "Yes, Arnold, I am fine."

"Okay, Helga." He paused, I waited for the question this time. "So, how are your parents?" The question had a little more suspicion than it did interest, maybe the coughing fit gave it away or maybe he knew or maybe he just wanted to know how they are and I am jumping to conclusions.

I slid a lock of my bangs out of my vision and didn't know what to say without spilling the beans or without lying. I avoided his eyes as I said, "They are fine." So what? I went with lying. I didn't want to talk about it. How many times would it take for me to believe that?

The waiter set a plate of spaghetti covered in thick marinara sauce, my mouth watered as I grabbed my fork, ready to dig in. The smell was thick and delicious, and it smelled like heaven. "Anything else, miss?" Mr. Snazzy asked.

I glanced up and shook my head then stopped, "Actually may I have another glass of water? Thanks." I shoved my fork into the noodles and waited for the waiter to leave so I can enjoy my something to eat.

Arnold took the liberty to order something, he better be looking forward to paying for his own food. "Hey, can I get a small Caesar salad, please?" I looked up at the waiter who was just staring at Arnold like in a trance, what was his problem. The waiter jotted the order down on his small note pad and rushed off. No asking if it's going to be on the same tab. Rude.

That was the last straw. I could handle him asking how I was, maybe a little small talk, but inviting himself to lunch with me…no. I frowned, glaring at him, maybe it would make him disappear. I wish. Arnold looked at me questioningly. "What are you doing?" I asked. I didn't wait for him to answer, just continued. "If you didn't notice, I picked the emptiest restaurant, sat by myself, away from anyone, tried to ignore you and you…what? Invite yourself to have lunch with me?" My voice raised slightly at each word and was almost yelling at the end of the question. "Why are you here? I want to be alone!" I looked at my food and it looked nauseating, oh, great a waste of five bucks.

"I wanted to have lunch with you, Helga, because I want to talk. You seem so distant, and I want to know what's wrong. You're my friend and I care about your well being." I waited years to hear those words, but it just didn't matter to me anymore. He looked at me with those pleading brown eyes. Yeah, four years ago I would have done anything if he gave me that look but not today, not this year.

I smiled bitterly. "You want to know what's wrong, Arnold?" I asked, opened my mouth, ready to tell him but stopped, I wasn't going fall into a damned trap for a pretty pair of brown eyes, it just didn't seem worth it. "Too bad, I am not falling for it, Arnold. You never mind your own business, it's like you have to know everything that is happening, I don't need your prying. So…leave…me…the…hell…alone." I pulled a ten dollar bill out of my purse and slapped it down on the table. The waiter deserved a five dollar tip for having to put up with this drama. I stood up and pain shot through me but that didn't stop me from trying to walk as fast as I could, which still wasn't very fast. If I could take the pain I would have ran, I wish I could have ran.

Half way down the block and a hand gripped onto my shoulder. I stopped dead in my tracks and frowned down at the ground. I took in deep breaths and began counting to ten slowly, trying to calm myself. "Helga…" He trailed off as if he didn't know what to say. An apology for not minding his own business would have been fine as long as he left after he said it, but this was Arnold. He always thought he cold do no wrong. There was thick, heavy silence that hung in the air, he broke it. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." My heart stopped, shocked. Did he just..? Yeah, he did. Well, all he needed to do now was leave.

When I was breath steady again, I wanted to say, "Then why are you still talking to me?" but didn't, instead I said, "It's fine." I instantly regretted saying it because it wasn't fine, I wasn't fine, and his hand still on my shoulder _wasn't_ fine. "Please take your hand off my shoulder." Maybe it was the please, or maybe he could hear my clinched teeth, but he dropped his hand.

Arnold walked around to the front of me, I was still looking down at the ground. "Can I walk with you at least?" He was a freaking gadfly, he wouldn't go away, no matter how much you wanted him to. I walk off to get away from him and he still doesn't get a clue.

I looked up, my voice was steady, bland, empty. "No." I walked around him, trying to get away from him, but there he was, walking beside me. "You just don't get a hint, do you Arnold? You wouldn't even pay me any mind when we were little but now you won't leave me the hell alone. I could call the police and place a restraining order on you." I didn't look at him when I said it, and knew I sounded over dramatic, and knew it sounded ridiculous, but I was kind of serious.

His chuckle was deep, warm and it pissed me off because it sent shivers all over my body. "Helga, I go to school with you, you can't place a restraining order on me." He had a point, but I mostly just wanted him to leave me be. He was too damn nosey.

I shrugged my shoulders and didn't know what to say, so I just said, "Fine."

"Fine."

I looked at him. He was taunting me. Secretly telling me that I am being immature. "You need something? 'Cause, you know, if you don't, well…" I trailed off, thinking if I should shout, be a snob, or just ask nicely. I chose nicely. "Will you please just leave me alone?" I wasn't walking anymore, we were standing right around the corner of Green Meats, where, if he wanted to, Mr. Green could eavesdrop.

Arnold studied my eyes, I don't know what he was looking for but the expression changed on his face. "I want to know what you are hiding. You haven't been this rude since the beginning of sixth grade. Please, Helga, tell me." He was begging. Was it the end of the world if I didn't turn to him for someone to talk to? Was there a bet to see who could get the truth out of me? That thought made me frown, made me jump to conclusions and, as close as I was to telling him just a little detail of what had happened, I didn't want to anymore. I didn't want to risk him telling everyone my personal business, I didn't want to risk being sympathized over it because I didn't need it. I needed space, time to think, time to figure out what I am going to do and how I am going to move on in live. Starving myself didn't exactly seem like the best part of life. Crying never seemed to make anything better. Ignoring people obviously doesn't work. Talking makes me feel like I am open book. Writing used to be everything, I could write down all that needed to said and I would feel one-hundred percent better but not lately.

"Well, Arnold," I said to slowly, helping me not to snarl at him. "You can just keep on wondering because you aren't getting anything out of me." I walked off, leaving him baby steps behind me. Why was he so damn nosey? They say that the reason you get mad at certain people, or don't like certain people is because they are just like you, or have certain things in common with you, traits that you have that you find annoying in most other people. Maybe that is why I get angry at him easily, I can't necessarily say that I haven't gotten into other peoples personal lives, and I can't say I haven't, at least, tried to make them tell me what is wrong.

He was beside me again, like a lost dog. Couldn't find an owner, so the first person who was sweet enough to pet and give him food, he follows. I really didn't want to be followed. I walked past Mr. Green, he was standing at the door staring at us, I bet ten bucks he was trying to listen in on the conversation. I would have. I never see him work, really. It's like he is psychic and knows when I am passing by. It's kind of creepy.

I looked over at Arnold, "Go away, Arnold." I replied, I didn't have anything else to say to him, except I wished he would respect my personal space, but why would he listen to me?

He stopped then and I was walking alone. He's not following? I had to stop and turn around to make sure that I wasn't having some sort of daze. He stood a few feet behind me, just looking at me, empty expression. Why was I feeling so horrible again, about not telling him? It's just a secret I wanted to keep to myself, but I didn't want people to hate me for not telling them, for not confessing things I felt didn't need to be confessed. Something was stinging my eyes and I had to blink to see clearly. I was crying, yet again. When would it end? At that moment, I wanted to tell him, only him, what had happened to me, why I am distant, why I am rude. I wanted to confess, I wanted it off my mind, I wanted to make the right decision. What was the right decision?

An instant later, I haven't the faintest how I got there, when it happened or how long I had been doing it, but I was in Arnolds arms, hugging him. To my surprise he was hugging back. I didn't expect it, I expected to be pushed away, like I always have been. I sobbed into his shoulder, using his shirt as my tissue, and told him everything, from my weekend at Phoebe's to finding my mother dead on the couch to the cuts on my legs. When I was done the look on his face was something I never thought I would ever see. Shock, sorrow, anger. He looked like he cared. Well, I guess I shouldn't have been too shocked because it was Arnold, but it was more of the fact that he was caring about _me_. I guess I shouldn't think too much into it, it'll probably end.

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Author's Note: Ha! Finally got it done. Goodness, it took forever and I am trying to write a story for fiction press but I am brain blocked right now, I can't start it…grr. Well, anyway, yeah, this chapter got really stupid, I was trying to change it so much, so it would jump right into her telling him. But I wanted her to tell him in this chapter, I want her emotions to alter just a bit for the next chapter. But oh, well…I hope it wasn't too bad...even though it was. Tsk. Please Review. Thank you!


	7. Sic Transit Gloria, Glory Fades

**Disclaimer -** I do not own 'Hey Arnold!'Disclaimer - I do not own any bands, CD's, or song titles. **

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Author's Note -**

Thank you for the great reviews. They make me…SMILE…I like to smile. Keep it up. Unfortunately, bad reviews, I do not think I have gotten any yet, make me frown and make me sad. So make me happy!!! 

**Renaeaurora,** do not worry about telling me the truth. I know that last chapter dragged on and on and on and on. It was boring; _I _got so bored with it. It was more like I had to make it seem like time was passing, Arnold digging, then Helga finally giving in to him. It just would not seem right if he said, "hi, Helga!" then she said, "My mom died!" You know? So I kind of just waited it out. So, I hope this chapter is better. Sorry about all that.

**Blond Cecile,** thanks, I really appreciate your review and your suggestions. I would love to start it off with the "Soap Opera" beginnings but I just cannot seem to make it sound good enough…I just tried. Lol. Thanks for the great review.

**Pointy Objects, **thank you so much, you are a wonderful writer and (referring the note in the first chapter of Bittersweet Catastrophe) don't think you aren't able to pull off three stories, because you are doing pretty well. I am having trouble because I also write on Fiction Press and that is hard too. Anyway, keep up the good work!

**Bleeding in Vein,** Awh, I don't want to make anyone cry. I am sorry. I am really trying not to make this terribly sad; it's just coming out that way. Thank you for the review.

**Inferna,** AH! No questions. But the next couple of chapters will be pretty good. Yeah, I would have liked to give more detail to last paragraph, too, but I was just trying to end it, I had been writing that chapter for too long. **

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**Chapter Seven: Sic Transit Gloria - Glory Fades**

Arnold and I were sitting on his stoop talking about all that I had confessed to him. I still couldn't believe out of the people that I know, it was him who I told. I shouldn't be surprised, I know, but I am and now that I told him that one thing, there this little voice in me nagging to tell him more secrets, telling me that I can trust him, that he wouldn't go around telling everybody, that was what is said between each other is kept between each other. I wanted to believe that voice so badly that it hurt.

I sighed. "You know it's just so weird, I have been crying and crying, I never knew I would ever feel like this, not about Mom." I paused, staring down at the ground. "I always thought that I would be happy when she was gone, because I felt that I didn't have any love for her because she was never around when I needed her, but she was my mother and that'll never change and the love I have for her will never change, as invisible as it may seem…" I trailed off and whispered, "That'll never change." The last words were more for my benefit, trying to make me believe it. I wasn't sure if I did. My tears were long gone but I still felt like I was crying, my throat was tight and my nose stuffy, my eyes burned.

Silence hung in the air, reflecting. Arnold didn't know what to say and I knew that. I didn't expect him to know what to say. "I am sorry, Helga. I don't know how many times I will say that but I truly am." I was looking at him now. He was such a good friend when no one else was, and I realized that I still _loved_ him. Maybe not love, but I am attracted to him . . . again. Off again, on again feelings, I hated it but it seemed hard to stop being attracted to the ones you were always attracted to. Too bad he's not attracted to me. "You should probably go see how your dad is doing, you never know when the denial will fade and reality would hit him." He was right, but was he saying this to get rid of me?

A shadow sneaked up over me, tall hair, thin body. Of course…Gerald. When would he get that hair trimmed down? I looked over at him. "Hey, Helga…" He wasn't looking at me when he said it; it was Arnold he was staring at questioningly. Secretly asking, _why is _Helga G. Pataki _here? _A basketball was held under one arm and he was leaning against the stoop just staring at Arnold. He was clad in a red plaid shirt that hung open showing a black T-shirt underneath, black jean short that looked like wide legged high waters covered the lower half of his body. Red high tops completed the outfit. What I was wondering the whole time I just stared at him staring at Arnold was: why did he have the tag still on his shoes and why weren't they laced up, and why were the top of the shoes rolled down? He's going to fall on his ass when he's playing a game. I wonder if I could watch. I turned to look at Arnold and his head was cocked to one side giving Gerald an uncertain look that was saying _Something bad just happened, go easy on her._ I knew when I wasn't wanted, but I wanted to make him swear to confidentiality, but I didn't. I needed to trust him.

I stood up without a word and walked off, Arnold didn't stop me and if he tried, I guess I didn't notice. I swallowed back the dry lump that formed in my throat. It wasn't a long walk home, but if you're sore then it feels like it's going to take days. I got home when Dad got home. Good timing, I'd say. He was standing at the door, having trouble with something, fumbling with his keys, trying to use one hand. I tried to walk faster but just gave up. "Hey, Dad!" I called, catching his attention.

A large smile was one Bob's face when he turned his head to look at me and to be honest, it scared the living hell out of me. "I got a surprise for you, girl!" He exclaimed. I wanted to turn around and run, as much pain it would have been, it would have gotten me away from the craziness of my father. I couldn't abandon him, so I just smile and walked up to him. He didn't say anything about my walking funny and I appreciated it, I don't even think he noticed and strangely enough, I appreciated that even more.

"What…" I trailed off, afraid to finish the question, "…is it?" I smiled politely.

Bob turned around swiftly, bringing out a small Boston Terrier. I felt my face drop in surprise as I stared at the puppy he was holding out in front of him. "It's a dog, Helga," He informed me as if I would have never guessed what it was.

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, it is," I didn't know what else to say. He was replacing Mom with an animal? How…sweet. Although a lot of people did do it, it was their way of coping with things. I didn't like that idea much, you can't replace someone with an animal, it wasn't the same and it seemed insulting.

"You like it?" He asked. "He's so cute!" Bob's voice cooed. I had never heard my father's voice coo, I never thought I would live to see the day to ever hear my father coo. But here it was right before my eyes, I felt like I should run and take cover.

I smiled forcefully, "Yeah, cute," The words left me and sounded doubtful, but I don't think that Bob caught it, he was too busy cuddling puppy against him, swinging back and forth like he was cradling a baby. Maybe he was replacing Olga. I didn't want to think about it. He should have gotten a cat, they don't crave as much attention and all you have to do it throw them outside when they wanted out.

"Here!" He marched down the steps and forced the dog into my arms, I held back a groan. I didn't hate dogs; I just didn't exactly like them. They smelled horrible and pissed all over the house. I would be responsible for cleaning it up. I held the dog a foot in front of me, looked at it then to dad, and grinned. "Isn't he great?" He exclaimed.

What was I supposed to say? Yes? I didn't want to lie so I just handing it back to dad, walked up to the front door, and stopped. My keys, I didn't have a key. Did dad unlock the door? I checked. No. "Dad, keys!" I hollered like he was fifty feet away from me.

"What should we name him?" He asked as he walked to the door and unlocked the front door. I shrugged and walked in. "How--how about…Martin?" He asked thoughtfully as he patted the dog. Maybe this will be good for him. A companion. Dogs are supposed to be a man's best friend. Why didn't I believe that?

"Sure, why not?" My voice came out monotone. The air down stairs wasn't any different than before, it smelled like death, stale and thick, and it made me sick. I hurried as fast as I could up the stairs, away from the thickness of the air, away from the smell, away from dad, and away from that damn mutt. I wasn't hiding. I couldn't hide, but I wanted to. I walked into my room and shut the door behind me. Time for a little journal entry. Does that really make me feel better? Yes . . . Sometimes.

I sat down on the floor, pink book in my lap, and put the black pen to paper:

Tuesday, June 11

I am a wimp. I confessed everything to Arnold, but that isn't why I am a wimp. I am a wimp because I could I tell him and not my best friend, or maybe that makes me a bad friend. "She's worried about you." is what Arnold had said. I believed it and I knew it…know it. Phoebe threatened to climb through my window on the second floor if I didn't open the front door for her, she was determined to talk to me, to see how I was doing, but I couldn't tell her, I could tell Arnold…but not my best friend, that is why I am a wimp…and a bad friend. I should just call her; tell her everything, unless Arnold tells her everything. Tomorrow is that last day, then Friday is Graduation. Graduation. Should I go? No. Too many people. I know how pain works, how denial works . . .

My legs are cut up pretty badly, they are deep, I feel like I should go to the doctor to make sure I don't need stitches. I will survive. Dad brought home a puppy today, that little guy is…interesting. Dogs aren't my thing, I will take a fish or maybe a hamster, but a dog? Too much work. I don't have time and Dad doesn't have that time. Sigh.

A question just occurred to me, a question I should have been wondering for a few days now: When is Mom's funeral? Could I ask Dad? I don't know, how would he react to that? I guess I will find out. Would he show up? Could he stomach to show up? I wanted him to be there, he needed to say good-bye. I need to say good-bye. I guess a better question was: Could I stomach to show up?

This poem is for my mom,  
I miss her so,  
These feelings are like ticking time bombs,  
Ready to explode,  
To go off,  
A terrible guilt show.  
This poem is dedicated to my dad,  
I love him so,  
But these feelings I am getting don't exactly define rad.  
It's a scary road,  
A frightening sight,  
They all come by the load.  
Is he going to be okay?  
I just really want to know.  
This poem is to my sister.  
A stupid mistake she should have seen,  
She is so smart,  
But did she realize how stupid she had been?  
She has a good heart,  
A good soul,  
But a life was lost because of her bad start.  
This poem is written to the lost ones now and the soon to be.

I closed the book, put it away, and thought of how I would ask Dad. Should I start with conversation, and then kind of bring up the question, or should I ask directly? I paused and looked at the closed door. Something was scratching on the other side, with a high whining sound. I didn't move, I don't even think I was breathing, waiting for it to quit, but it just got louder. I got up with a hiss of pain and a grunt and hobbled to the door. I looked down and in front of me stood a small dog, a dog that was determined for me to love him unconditionally. Sorry, Guy, I don't do dogs. I looked down at him, and stared back at me with those big…Brown…Eyes… I smiled slightly as I thought of Arnold's big brown eyes then slapped myself mentally. No! I wasn't…I couldn't…NO! A dog was reminding me of my childhood crush, that was a bad sign, just as bad a lemons or inkblots had reminded me of him.

Cocking a brow, I blinked and said, "Well, what do you want?" He barked in response then pawed at my leg as he panted. If I were a mean person, that pawing would have earned him a kick, lucky for him I wasn't an animal abuser. "Well, I can't pet you or pick you up, I hurt my legs. I am paralyzed from the knees down." He whined, didn't believe me. Smart dog? Or coincidence? I chose coincidence.

"Hurt your legs?" Dad asked from his room, he sounded surprised, not worried. "Good excuse to tell a dog with the brain the size of a peanut." Sarcasm was lilt in his voice. I wondered if the dog understood that. I smiled in relief, he didn't believe me.

I nodded, "Yeah." I paused; it was quiet for what seemed to be forever. A creepy silence that hung in the air like a bad horror movie. I really didn't like horror movies, so I filled that silence. "When's Mom's funeral?" There! Out! Now, I would have to wait for a response.

It came fast, faster than I had expected. "On Thursday." There was a slight change in his voice, pain as he answered the question and I automatically regretted asking him. He was silent for a long moment then broke that silence with a sniffle. The Boston Terrier barked, but it sounded so distant, I had to look down to make sure he was still at my feet and not actually in my room, tearing it apart.

I walked around the small pup and to the opening of my dad's room. I propped my shoulder against the door jam and stared at my dad. Bob just sat there on his bed, face toward the ground, big hands covering his face. "Hey, Dad . . ." He glanced up and stared at me with his grey eyes through his fingers. He didn't look all that happy, and I didn't feel all that happy.

"What is it, Helga?" He growled. I was familiar with that voice. Anger, that was ninety-seven percent of him. Anger, the man never could be happy and this time I didn't expect him to be happy. How could he be? He can't lie to himself and run from his problems forever.

"Ar--are you okay?"

Bob didn't answer just stood up and for the first time in a long time, he was looming, intimidating me and I _was_ intimidated. He was scaring me. Not because of his threatening gesture, but because the way he was using it. "Watch Walter, girl." He snapped out in his gruff voice. "I am going out." He rushed past me and was gone before I could prod him to tell me more. What was wrong with him? Was it all starting to hit him? The truth? I stand corrected, I guess he can continue running from his problems forever but right now I was his problem, can he run from his daughter forever? I should never have asked him anything, that one question was too much to ask and he ran. I just wished I could have been able to help him.

Walter? I stopped and figured it would have to me the dog, unless he picked up a homeless off the streets. A light tug on my pant leg and I looked down, the dog was whining and panting next to me. I sighed. I made a new friend; I didn't want a new friend. I stepped over the dog and waddled back to my room, the dog was strides ahead of me, awaiting me in my room. I sighed and figured it was better he was in there, that way I didn't have to kill myself chasing the damn animal around the house.

I closed the door behind me and sat roughly on my bed and shook my head, the dog jumped up beside me and I stared at him. The dirty mutt was on my freaking bed, I let it go. I looked at that look in his eyes. "What do you think, Walter?" He pawed at my arm, panting loudly. "You think Dad will be okay?" He whined and rested his head on my thigh. "Yeah, I don't think so either."

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**Author's Note -** Goodness, it seems that my chapters are taking longer to finish. How do you like this chapter? I kind of think it was good. Please review. Much thanks! Smiles! 


	8. Good To Know If I Ever Need Attention, A...

**Disclaimer -** I don't own 'Hey Arnold!' or bands, song titles or CD titles.

**Author's Note -** Thank you all for the reviews!!!

**Passing Entity** thank you very much for your review, I am happy you enjoy it, even though sometimes I don't.

**Demile** I am glad you like the dog touch. - Yeah, I started reading some of your stories, I just never get around to review, I am sorry, I will do it soon, promise. Lol.

**Inferna** Goodness, you always have questions! It's not a bad thing, it's just when people asks questions I end up ruining things. Like, "What did you get me for Christmas?" And I tell them! It's terrible. . you're just gonna have to read. It'll be interesting…Well I hope it will be.

**Golden Lunar Eclipse **Ahh, don't worry about it, when you get to this chapter, you will see this…but take your time, no need to rush. Thanks for taking the time to review.

**DarthRoden (Carl) **I will be sure to take some time sometimes soon and review some of your work. I like reading other fics but I just have been so preoccupied, but I have two weeks off now, so I will have time to review a story or two of yours. And you will just have to keep up and see how everything goes. o.o;

**Pointy Objects! **One of my favorite reviewers. I would like to apologize right now, I am sorry for not reviewing some of your stories, I have really caught up in school, so my condolences, I will try in these next two weeks to read yours. Lol, yeah, I try to keep the mood in the story…uh…different, I try to keep it moving. But I am sure toward the middle or the end it was probably be one mood. Thanks for the review!

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**Chapter Eight: Good To Know If I Ever Need Attention, All I Have To Do Is Die**

I didn't want to go, I didn't want to look into that casket and see her lying there so peaceful and remember what she looked like when I first saw her, I don't think I would be mentally okay afterwards, but I was doing okay right now, wasn't I? I didn't want to be the only one there with my depressed father. Who else would show up? No one knows. I didn't want to look over at Dad and see him finally lose it, like had almost done the other night. Shit, I really didn't want to go. I bit my lip and limped to the vanity mirror, staring at my reflection. God, it hurt to stand. The cuts had gotten worse, they were puffy and practically glowing pink with pus dripping out. Horrible pain. It was a horrible sight to wake up to yesterday morning and find this out. I hoped I would manage, after all if worse came to worse, I could always go to that terrible building called the _hospital_, nah, I'd really rather not.

I leaned against a the chair that sat in front of the vanity and was disgusted with what I saw. I looked like a wanna-be goth. Dressed in all black from head to toe, but I don't think it would be very respectful to show up in bright 'happy' colors. Black represents mourning, but if it was just going to be me and Bob, then would it really matter? I had on a button down black silk shirt, my best one and I hated it, the rest of the black shirts I had, had writing all over them or were shot and I used for painting. I wore black fading jeans that reminded me of a bad eighties movie, and black sneakers, probably the most uncomfortable shoes I have. All in all, my outfit looked like crap. My blonde hair was tied high out of my face with black ribbon curling through the stands, it was probably the best looking part of me. I sighed and took a seat in the chair, it felt so good, too good. I didn't want to have to get up to call Dad at work and remind him (like he would forget), or to walk to the church, or to take the damned dog for a walk before I had to leave.

The funeral was in one hour, if I walked the dog now and walked to the church, I could get there on time with minimal amounts of pain. Sounded like a good idea to me. I smooched loudly for Walter to rush over here. He was sitting next to me, panting at my feet before I could even make a sound. He was a really smart dog. I guess I should give Dad props on picking out animals. I grunted and stood up, using the vanity to steady myself. I walked out of my room and Walter followed, running down the stairs ahead of me as I limped my way down the stairs, when I finally got down the stairs, I felt like I needed to rest. Fourteen and feeling like an old lady, this wasn't going to be the best summer, I knew it. Walter hopped up the front step with the leash in his mouth, I took it and hooked it to his collar and headed for the door. Dad would receive his call when I got to church.

I wanted to laugh in triumph, I had my keys this time. They had fallen behind my bed, I took the time yesterday to look for them. I locked the door and we walked to the church, slowly, and it seemed to hurt even more than I thought it would, maybe I should just get a wheel chair. Yeah, no walking and that would be lovely. Walter took a lot of pit stops, no even to do his business, just to smell if that was _where_ he wanted to do his business. Stupid dog.

Walter and I stopped a block before the church and I thought I had taken the wrong turn, that that couldn't have been the building. People were flooding from the building, walking down the street to the building and at that moment I wanted to scream and kill Arnold. This was his doing, it had to be, no one else _knew_! I looked at my watch, ten minutes, long enough to hide his damned body after I killed him brutally. I walked quickly, ignoring the pain that was shooting through me and rushed to the church, Walter trailed behind me, I was dragging him and didn't notice until he stopped and wouldn't budge. I looked back realized that I had to stop. He sniffed the side of the building and marked his territory and began walking again. As long as it was alright with him.

Arnold was waiting by the door of the church and smiled when he saw me, but it faltered quickly when he saw my expression. "Helga, it was great that you invited all these people." He said, but his voice wasn't so excited, it was questioning, unsure of his own comment.

Walter barked and pawed his leg and I pulled him back slowly. "Whatever, Arnold. I am not stupid. _You_ invited all these people, why?" I wanted to yell but I couldn't, I couldn't make a scene. Maybe it was the fact that he was confused, or maybe it was the because of the pain I was finally beginning to feel but I just couldn't yell at him. "You couldn't just keep one personal thing about me to yourself, could you?" I let out a bitter barking laugh, maybe it would classify as a scoff. "To think I could trust to tell you anything. Thanks for setting me straight." I smiled small and not happy.

Arnold looked down at the dog that was nuzzling my ankle then looked back up at me. "Helga, I did keep this to myself. You know I wouldn't do something like this, no offense, but not for you. I know you, Helga. I know you wouldn't appreciate it and I know you would kill me if I ever did pull something like this," He stopped in thought and said, "But I think I may know why the whole town knew about this." He offered.

Did I want to hear this? I did. "Why?" I asked suspiciously, almost forcefully, arching a brow. I figured I would hear something I hadn't even thought of, something that was so absolutely obvious that I would feel like a moron.

I did. "Was she in the _Obituaries _for her death?" He asked. I stared at him like a complete idiot, speechless, I didn't have an answer to that, because I didn't know the correct answer to that. Bob could have put a memorial in the paper, but for some reason I was doubting it, but then again, who else would? I shrugged in response and looked at the ground. "You okay?"

I nodded. "I'm coo'." I answered with a smirk, but inside I wasn't. I felt sick all of the sudden, like I ate something bad, or maybe I was just dying from starvation. I had an apple yesterday. Weighed myself this morning. In four days I lost twelve pounds. I don't think that is very good. I hadn't drank anything since the restaurant. Dehydration? I felt dizzy, but maybe it was the sadness or maybe it was the heat and dressing in all black, but looking around, everyone else seemed fine as they walked into the church. I felt this way when my grandmother died, but that was also because I had some bad potato salad before I left. I took in a deep breath and plopped down on the warm cement and was breathing hard.

"You don't seem okay, Helga." My eyes were closed, I wasn't sure how close he was, but he sounded like he was whispering in my ear. No, go away! I opened my eyes and ended up looking right into his eyes. Why was he here and why was he spinning? "I will be right back, I am going to get you water." He rushed off, leaving me on the ground, feeling like I was going to throw up, leaving me feeling like I was going to die.

Walter hopped on my lap and licked my hand, catching my attention. I looked down at him amd he was spinning around too. I just stared down at him, trying to blink my vision back to normal. It wasn't working and I knew if I tried to stand up, I wouldn't be able to balance myself. The dog yapped and nipped at my fingers, pulling me. I looked down. My hands were empty and his leash was in five different places.

"Helga, here." Arnold shoved a paper cup into my hands and I took it. You would think with all the people that were walking into the church, someone would stop to ask what was wrong. If I was okay. But who would stop to talk to someone who was having difficulty breathing, who was dizzy, who was sitting on the ground feeling sick to her stomach? I wish my best friend would have, instead Arnold was caring for me. I brought the cup up to my lips, my hand was shaking badly, the water was practically spilling all over the place, a hand enveloped mine, steadying my hand and I thought nothing of it. It was when the water was gone, when I felt a little cooler, when I was less dizzy that I suddenly felt my face heat up in sudden shock and embarrassment, his hand stuck to mine and didn't move, he just stared at me, studying me face. "Feeling any better?" He finally asked. His voice was bland, no emotion.

Nodding, I pulled my hand away and looked over at Walter. He was staring at us like it was a show. "What time is it, has the funeral begun, is my dad here?" I hurried to get up, but I was still a tad dizzy and practically fell. I looked around, no one was outside, it was just Walter, Arnold, and me. Arnold's hands held my elbows, balancing me.

"I haven't seen him yet, but I am sure he will be here." Arnold said, staring at me, brown eyes intense. I almost forgot that I needed to go inside, that there was a funeral for my mother going on. I pulled myself violently away from him, I wouldn't let myself fall for someone I wasn't meant for, I refused to make that mistake again. I leaned down, legs straight, and grabbed Walter's leash, mumbling an apology to the dog and tied to him to a bar outside the church. I rushed inside, looking around, hoping to see Bob. A voice was booming over the intercom, it had already started and I missed the introduction. I sat down in the back, trying to peek over the heads, hoping to see Bob but I saw no one that even resembled my father.

A soft rumble disturbed my thoughts and I looked over. Arnold. He was always there. _Always_. And if I had to be completely honest. It was really . . . Well, nice. I smiled faintly at him, and was relieved that he wasn't looking at me when I did it. I turned my attention back to the front. The pastor was preaching about how good my mother was, how she was always there for her family, how she loved everyone and was a good wife, mother, sister, aunt, cousin, friend, volunteer and I felt an urge to laugh. To laugh hysterically but I caught myself and stood up, to pull myself away from being a terrible person, from being a terrible daughter. I needed Dad here.

I waddled out of the room and caught Arnold watching me walking my way painfully between the tight pews. I hurried as quickly as I could to the phone and dialed his work number. I tapped my fingers impatiently as the phone rang. No one answered. I frowned down at the floor and listened to the ringing, still no one answered. And that is when I froze and hung up the phone idly, everything, all sound in the church faded and all I could hear was sirens rushing down the street. No, I was thinking negatively, for the worst. I picked up the phone and dialed the number again. No one answered. I called home, hoping to God that he would just be at home, resting. No one answered. I slammed down the phone, harder than I intended and it echoed. I rushed out of the church and silently prayed forgiveness to my mother for leaving her funeral.

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**Author's Note:** So, I would like to apologize for this chapter being so late, since it is short. I have been trying to update _CSI: Hillwood_ and a bunch of other stories for Fictionpress and not paying attention to this one. I am not a very good author. Tear. I am sorry. I will try to update sooner. Please review, thank you. 


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